e helplessness that pressed and bore upon her more fiercely from day
to day, clutching at her throat, inexorably demanding a decision, she
made that decision and wailed:

"Tell him! Tell him! Tell him!"

And, as she uttered that wail, he saw her so prostrate under the
decision that would bring down upon her the scorn, the rage perhaps, of
their child, of their son, the death--O Heaven!--of his love, if he once
knew and, above all, realized the truth, that he, her husband, felt pity
for the woman who had turned his life into a long and dreary futility;
and he said:

"I will tell him, I will tell him. But have no fear: if he does
understand and realize it, he will love you none the less for it,
Constance!"

She looked at him, feeling that he no longer grudged her their child's
love, that he was not as jealous as she. And, for a moment, she thought
of throwing herself on his breast and sobbing out the anguish which she
felt pressing more and more upon her, felt coming towards her like a
monster looming out of the future. But the emotion tugging at her
heart-strings was drawn back violently; and she went away and flung
herself on the floor in her bedroom and hiccoughed her despair ...
because her son was going to be told!

CHAPTER XXXII

But he did not tell him that day. He merely persuaded himself that it
was not necessary, that it would even be wrong to tell his son, his
child, who was still so young, the past of their lives, that which he
would hear of himself and know and understand when he was a year or two
older. And on the following days also, hesitating, Van der Welcke did
not tell him. But the gloomy meals continued, Constance' fits of
helplessness continued; and she once again exclaimed:

"Oh, tell him! Do tell him!"

And they both felt so unhappy, because they were losing their child more
and more every day, that he determined to tell Addie. He hesitated until
the last moment, wavering, struggling within himself, not knowing what
would be right, what wrong, knowing only that he was suffering beyond
endurance. Then, one evening, he looked up his child in the
"turret-room:"

"Addie, shall I be in your way if I sit here?"

"No, Papa."

The boy was doing his home-work. Van der Welcke sat down. He reflected
that he would rather tell him some other day, when Addie was not
working. The child worked on, silently, gloomily, grimly. And Van der
Welcke suddenly exclaimed:

"Addie!"

"Yes, Papa?"