t I can see--there was no other way; but Charlie is
very angry, and you must be brave and forgiving with him, Christie,
dear."

"But I did never see him like that before, did you?"

"Once."

"When?"

"Oh, at college, one day, a boy tore his prayer book in half, and
threw it into the grate, just to be mean, you know. Our mother had
given it to him at his confirmation."

"And did he look so?"

"About, but it all blew over in a day--Charlie's tempers are short
and brisk. Just don't take any notice of him; run off to bed, and
he'll have forgotten it by the morning."

They reached home at last. Christie said goodnight quietly, going
directly to her room. Joe went to his room also, filled a pipe and
smoked for an hour. Across the passage he could hear her slippered
feet pacing up and down, up and down the length of her apartment.
There was something panther-like in those restless footfalls, a
meaning velvetyness that made him shiver, and again he wished he
were dead--or elsewhere.

After a time the hall door opened, and someone came upstairs, along
the passage, and to the little woman's room. As he entered, she
turned and faced him.

"Christie," he said harshly, "do you know what you have done?"

"Yes," taking a step nearer him, her whole soul springing up into
her eyes, "I have angered you, Charlie, and--"

"Angered me? You have disgraced me; and, moreover, you have
disgraced yourself and both your parents."

"_Disgraced_?"

"Yes, _disgraced_; you have literally declared to the whole city
that your father and mother were never married, and that you are the
child of--what shall we call it--love? certainly not legality."

Across the hallway sat Joe McDonald, his blood freezing; but it
leapt into every vein like fire at the awful anguish in the little
voice that cried simply, "Oh! Charlie!"

"How could you do it, how could you do it, Christie, without shame
either for yourself or for me, let alone your parents?"

The voice was like an angry demon's--not a trace was there in it of
the yellow-haired, blue-eyed, laughing-lipped boy who had driven
away so gaily to the dance five hours before.

"Shame? Why should I be ashamed of the rites of my people any more
than you should be ashamed of the customs of yours--of a marriage
more sacred and holy than half of your white man's mockeries."

It was the voice of another nature in the girl--the love and the
pleading were dead in it.

"Do you mean to tell me, Cha