kness
(forced to domineer unsuccessfully in his home by the conquering
softness of his sister's disposition), had the bully's despairing
consciousness of being in the wrong at the very moment of superficial
victory; of being powerless in the very act of imposing himself upon his
poor little women-folk; of recognizing the fact that, although he might
lead them to the fountain of knowledge, he was unable to make them
drink; and yet not daring to hesitate in his bullying, for fear that he
might do nothing at all if he did not do this.

Now that his conscience was quickened, Madigan insisted to himself that
the culture of his daughters' minds must be attended to. So he read
aloud from "The Martyrdom of Man"; and enjoyed the sound of his
voice--the irresistible accents of the cultured Irishman--a pleasure
which the world shared with him; but not a martyred world of small
women, over whose heads the long-sounding, musical periods of the
poet-historian rolled, dropping only an occasional light shower of
intelligence upon the untilled minds below.

"We will begin where we left off the last time," Madigan said harshly.
He remembered how long it had been since "last time," and how much his
audience had had time to forget. "Where was that? Were any of you
interested enough to remember?"

Miss Madigan looked up from her work, like an amiable but very silly hen
who pretends to make a mental effort, yet, unfortunately, has nothing to
make that effort with. Kate, with the consciousness that she was really
the only one of Madigan's children capable of following the line of the
historian's thought, flushed guiltily. Irene sat like a prisoner,
looking out into the balmy evening. She could hear cries of "Free home!
Free home!" from down yonder in the paradise of the streets, in Crosby
Pemberton's voice. Even Crosby, whose unnatural mother was the only lady
of Split's acquaintance who was prejudiced against playing in the
streets--even Crosby was out. While she--

"It was the fall of Carthage, wasn't it, father?" asked Sissy, sweetly.

If a glance from Split could have slain, Sissy had been dead. It was not
the Madigan policy to encourage Francis Madigan in his belief that the
seeds he sought to sow fell on fertile soil. If they had to be martyred
in one sense, they declined to be in another. Besides, they knew and
detested Sissy's hypocritical desire to "show off."

"It was, indeed, Cecilia," said Madigan, with a pathetic softening