hat you asked of me
was truthfulness that had no sorrow."

He reached the top of the stairs and began to feel his way toward
his room.

"To have one chance in life, in eternity, for a white name, and to
lose it!"

VIII

Autumn and winter had passed. Another spring was nearly gone. One
Monday morning of that May, the month of new growths and of old
growths with new starting-points on them, Ambrose Webb was walking
to and fro across the fresh oilcloth in his short hall; the front
door and the back door stood wide open, as though to indicate the
receptivity of his nature in opposite directions; all the windows
were wide open, as though to bring out of doors into his house: he
was much more used to the former; during married life the open had
been more friendly than the interior. But he was now also master
of the interior and had been for nearly a year.

Some men succeed best as partial automata, as dogs for instance
that can be highly trained to pull little domestic carts. Ambrose
had grown used to pulling his cart: he had expected to pull it for
the rest of his days; and now the cart had suddenly broken down
behind him and he was left standing in the middle of the long
life-road. But liberty was too large a destiny for a mind of that
order; the rod of empire does not fit such hands; it was
intolerable to Ambrose that he was in a world where he could do as
he pleased.

On this courageous Monday, therefore,--whatsoever he was to do
during the week he always decided on Mondays,--after months of
irresolution he finally determined to make a second dash for
slavery. But he meant to be canny; this time he would choose a
woman who, if she ruled him, would not misrule him; what he could
stand was a sovereign, not a despot, and he believed that he had
found this exceptionally gifted and exceptionally moderated being:
it was Miss Anna Hardage.

From the day of Miss Anna's discovery that Ambrose had a dominating
consort, she had been, she had declared she should be, much kinder
to him. When his wife died, Miss Anna had been kinder still.
Affliction present, affliction past, her sympathy had not failed
him.

He had fallen into the habit of lingering a little whenever he took
his dairy products around to the side porch. Every true man yearns
for the eyes of some woman; and Ambrose developed the feeling that
he should like to live with Miss Anna's. He had no gift for
judging human conduct except by common hu