something to say to you."

Ranny took the children to his mother and went back. Mr. Ransome was
sitting up in his chair. He had roused himself. He looked strangely
intelligent and alert.

He signed to his son to sit near him.

"How old are those children?" he said.

"Dossie was five in March, and Stanny was three in April."

"And they've been--how long without their mother?"

"It'll be three years next October."

"Why don't you get rid of that woman?" said Mr. Ransome. It was as if
with effort and with pain and out of the secret, ultimate sources of his
being that he drew the energy to say it. They would never know what he
was thinking, never know (as Ranny had once said) what was going on
inside him. And of all impossible things, _this_ was what he had come
out with now!

"Do you mean that, Father?"

"Of course I mean it."

"Well, then--as it happens--it's what I'm going to do."

"You should have done it before."

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"I hadn't the money."

Mr. Ransome closed his eyes again as if in pain.

"I'd have given it you, Randall," he said, presently. He had opened his
eyes, but they wandered uneasily, avoiding his son's gaze. "If I'd had
it. But I hadn't. I've been doing badly."

And again his eyelids dropped and lifted.

"Things have gone wrong that hadn't ought to if I'd been what I should
be."

There was anguish in Ranny's father's eyes now. They turned to him for
reassurance. As if in some final act of humility and contrition, he
unbared and abased himself, he laid down the pretension of integrity.

His shawl had slipped from his knees. His hands moved over it as if,
having unbared, he now sought to cover himself. Ransome stooped over him
and drew the shawl up higher and wrapped it closer with careful, tender
touches.

"Don't worry about that," he said.

"Your Mother'll be all right, Randall. She's got a bit of her own. It's
all there, except what she put into the business. You won't have to
trouble about her." He paused. "Have you got the money now?" he said.

"I shall have. To-morrow, probably."

"Then don't you wait."

"It'll be beastly work, you know, Father. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"What _I_ mind is your being married to that woman. I never liked it,
Randall."

He closed his eyes. His face became more than ever drawn and peaked. His
mouth opened. With short, hard gasps he fought for the breath he had so
spent.

Ransome's heart reproached him because