n
companions, whether in the gaming-room or the hunting-field, without
first making sure unconsciously that Benoix was there. And he was
usually there.

At length Benoix, in his professional capacity, spoke to Kildare.

"What the devil, Jacques! Stop her riding and late hours, and all? What
d'ye mean?"

The doctor told him.

The husband swore a pleased oath. "Good little girl! I told you we'd
show 'em. But what of it? Child-bearing's no disease, man! Good Gad, the
girl ain't goin' to turn out sickly, is she?" Kildare had a queer horror
of "sickliness."

"Not if I can help it," said the other. He added, in the language Basil
best understood, "You do not race a brood-mare, my friend. You turn her
out to pasture."

Kildare admitted the point. Thereafter, though the usual life at Storm
went on unchanged, Kate was no longer a part of it.

She was rather glad. It was restful to be turned out to pasture. She
liked to hear them start off with the hounds in the cold dawn, knowing
that she might turn over and sleep again. Sometimes she was awakened at
night by swearing and quarrels and loud laughter from the guest-wing.
Sometimes there was singing, one rich baritone leading the rest; and to
this Kate listened eagerly. Dr. Benoix sang very beautifully when he was
drunk.

One night she started up out of a dream to hear tipsy voices at her very
door. It opened, and Basil Kildare stood on the threshold, holding a
lamp above his head, saying over his shoulder: "Come on in, boys! That's
all right--Kit's a good sport. Come and look at her, if you like.
Prettiest thing in a nightgown you ever saw!"

An anger possessed Kate of which she had never dreamed herself capable.
She knew then that there would never be any defender for her and her
children except herself. She saw that what her inexperience had mistaken
for strength in her husband was only violence. She reached for the
pistol at her bedside.

"Basil," she said quietly--too quietly--"if you bring those men into my
room, I shall shoot."

Her voice sobered him; shocked him into an anger as hot as hers was
cold. "Your room? _Your_ room? By God, I do what I choose in this house!
D'ye know who I am? By God--"

But her voice had sobered the others as well. They got him away by main
force. Not one of them had glanced at her.

In the morning, for the first time in her life, Kate was ill, and
Kildare in alarm sent for Benoix. Before her, he told the doctor what
had occurre