this superficial gentleness, this confession of hastiness, that
was only intended to enhance her admiration of the male.

"I don't want to hear it," she replied. "My sister is going to be
ill. My life is going to be with her now. We must manage to build up
something, she and I and her child."

"Where are you going?"

"Munich. We start after the inquest, if she is not too ill."

"After the inquest?"

"Yes."

"Have you realised what the verdict at the inquest will be?"

"Yes, heart disease."

"No, my dear; manslaughter."

Margaret drove her fingers through the grass. The hill beneath her moved
as if it were alive.

"Manslaughter," repeated Mr. Wilcox. "Charles may go to prison. I dare
not tell him. I don't know what to do--what to do. I'm broken--I'm
ended."

No sudden warmth arose in her. She did not see that to break him was her
only hope. She did not enfold the sufferer in her arms. But all through
that day and the next a new life began to move. The verdict was brought
in. Charles was committed for trial. It was against all reason that he
should be punished, but the law, notwithstanding, sentenced him to three
years' imprisonment. Then Henry's fortress gave way. He could bear no
one but his wife; he shambled up to Margaret afterwards and asked her
to do what she could with him. She did what seemed easiest--she took him
down to recruit at Howards End.

CHAPTER XLIV

Tom's father was cutting the big meadow. He passed again and again amid
whirring blades and sweet odours of grass, encompassing with narrowing
circles the sacred centre of the field. Tom was negotiating with Helen.
"I haven't any idea," she replied. "Do you suppose baby may, Meg?"

Margaret put down her work and regarded them absently. "What was that?"
she asked.

"Tom wants to know whether baby is old enough to play with hay?"

"I haven't the least notion," answered Margaret, and took up her work
again.

"Now, Tom, baby is not to stand; he is not to lie on his face; he is not
to lie so that his head wags; he is not to be teased or tickled; and he
is not to be cut into two or more pieces by the cutter. Will you be as
careful as all that?"

Tom held out his arms.

"That child is a wonderful nursemaid," remarked Margaret.

"He is fond of baby. That's why he does it!" was Helen's answer.
"They're going to be lifelong friends."

"Starting at the ages of six and one?"

"Of course. It will be a great thing for Tom."

"It may be