ard.

It should have been indeed a very sweet and odorous and peaceful hour.
The murmur of the water from the fountain had the lulling sound of a
hive of bees as they settle to rest, and to the suffering man it seemed
impossible that this, his cherished world, could change to the black
chaos which the loss of his adorable wife would bring upon it.

The settee was of wire, and curved so that when they had taken seats
they faced each other, and the sight of her, so slender, so graceful, so
womanly, filled him with a fury of hate against the assassin who had
torn him to pieces, making him old before his time, a cripple, impotent,
inert, and scarred.

Bertha did not wait for him to begin, and her first words smote like
bullets. "Mart, I'm going back to Sibley."

He looked at her with startled eyes--his brow wrinkling into sorrowful
lines. "For how long?"

"I don't know--it may be a good while. I'm going away to think things
over." Then she added, firmly, "I may not come back at all, Mart."

"For God's sake, don't say that, girlie! You don't mean that!" His voice
was husky with the agony that filled his throat. "I can't live without
ye now. Don't go--that way."

"I've _got_ to go, Mart. My mind ain't made up to this proposition. I
don't know about living with you any more."

"Why not? What's the matter, darlin'? Can't ye put up with me a little
longer? I know I'm only a piece of a man--but tell me the truth. Can't
you stay with me--as we are?"

She met him with the truth, but not the whole truth. "Everybody thinks I
married you for your money, Mart--it ain't true--but the evidence is all
against me. The only way to prove it a lie is to just naturally pull out
and go back to work. I hate to leave, so long as you--feel about me as
you do--but, Mart, I'm 'bleeged' to do it. My mind is so stirred up--I
don't enjoy anything any more. I used to like everything in the
house--all my nice things--the dresses and trinkets you gave me. It was
fun to run the kitchen--now it all goes against the grain some way. Fact
is, none of it seems mine."

His eyes were wet with tears as he said: "It's all my fault. It's all
because of what I said last night--"

She stopped him. "No, it ain't that--it ain't your fault, it's mine.
Something's gone wrong with _me_. I love this home, and my dogs and
horses and all--and yet I can't enjoy 'em any more. They don't belong to
me--now that's the fact, Mart."

"I'll make 'em yours, darlin', I'l