did do so, and have made up my mind to make any
sacrifice of pride and inclination to avoid it."

Here she actually broke down and sobbed, and I was very near joining
her. "Never mind," I said at length, quite softened; "I guess we shall
get along pleasantly together in the future, now that we have an
understanding."

"I hope so," she said, recovering her serenity, and we relapsed into a
painful silence.

This was the third and final victory, but I felt no elation over it. My
mother-in-law receded somewhat into the background, but it was so much
in sorrow, rather than anger, that I felt her new mood almost as
depressing as the old. I didn't want her to feel injured or subdued, but
evidently she couldn't help it, and the mother-in-law, though conquered,
was herself still, and that congeniality that would make our life
together wholly pleasant was impossible. Her existence was still a
shadow, less chilling and more pensive, but a shadow in our home, and it
seemed destined to stay there.

CHAPTER XI.

GEORGE'S NEW DEPARTURE.

"George is growing very restless. I don't know what ails him," Bessie
said to me.

"I can guess," I said, looking wise.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember what an uneasy, good-for-nothing chap one Charlie
Travers was, when he first began to call on a certain young woman with
conspicuous regularity?"

"O Charlie, you don't think he--"

"No, no! Now don't explode too suddenly. I wouldn't have him know that I
suspect anything for the world. We won't name any names, but I keep my
eyes about me, and I flatter myself I know the symptoms."

And with these mysterious words, I started for the bank, leaving to
Bessie a new and delightful subject for speculation and air-castle
building.

George did not come home to supper that day, but that was nothing
extraordinary. I was sitting out on the porch, smoking after the meal,
and saw him coming up the street.

"Where have you been?" I asked, as he joined me and took a seat.

"None of your business. In town."

"Is Miss Van well?" I asked mischievously.

"How should I know?"

"Come, George, you don't play the part of Innocence over well. Suppose
you try Candor, and tell me where you have been."

"You mistake my identity. I'm not your baby. You will find the youthful
Charlie entertaining his mother up stairs."

A long-drawn-out, agonized wail, proceeding from the regions above,
showed how Bessie was being entertained.

"No opening ye