ffling
will concealed beneath an unruffled and serene exterior. At moments I
looked at her across the table; she did not seem to have aged much: her
complexion was as fresh, apparently, as the day when I had first walked
with her in the garden at Elkington; her hair the same wonderful colour;
perhaps she had grown a little stouter. There could be no doubt about
the fact that her chin was firmer, that certain lines had come into her
face indicative of what is called character. Beneath her pliability she
was now all firmness; the pliability had become a mockery. It cannot
be said that I went so far as to hate her for this,--when it was in my
mind,--but my feelings were of a strong antipathy. And then again there
were rare moments when I was inexplicably drawn to her, not by love and
passion; I melted a little in pity, perhaps, when my eyes were opened
and I saw the tragedy, yet I am not referring now to such feelings as
these. I am speaking of the times when I beheld her as the blameless
companion of the years, the mother of my children, the woman I was used
to and should--by all canons I had known--have loved....

And there were the children. Days and weeks passed when I scarcely
saw them, and then some little incident would happen to give me an
unexpected wrench and plunge me into unhappiness. One evening I came
home from a long talk with Nancy that had left us both wrought up, and
I had entered the library before I heard voices. Maude was seated under
the lamp at the end of the big room reading from "Don Quixote"; Matthew
and Biddy were at her feet, and Moreton, less attentive, at a little
distance was taking apart a mechanical toy. I would have tiptoed out,
but Biddy caught sight of me.

"It's father!" she cried, getting up and flying to me.

"Oh, father, do come and listen! The story's so exciting, isn't it,
Matthew?"

I looked down into the boy's eyes shining with an expression that
suddenly pierced my heart with a poignant memory of myself. Matthew was
far away among the mountains and castles of Spain.

"Matthew," demanded his sister, "why did he want to go fighting with all
those people?"

"Because he was dotty," supplied Moreton, who had an interesting habit
of picking up slang.

"It wasn't at all," cried Matthew, indignantly, interrupting Maude's
rebuke of his brother.

"What was it, then?" Moreton demanded.

"You wouldn't understand if I told you," Matthew was retorting, when
Maude put her hand on h