-so
strong and masterful--have had enough of pointing fingers and mean to
pack us out of our home--for your comfort."

He stared at her in the gathering dusk and stood and uttered a great
sigh from deep in his lungs.

"I'm sorry for you, Sabina--sorrier than I am for myself. This is cruel.
I didn't know, or dream, that time had stood still for you like this."

"Time ended for me--then."

"For me it had to go on. I must think about this. I didn't guess it was
like this with you. Don't think I want you away; don't think you're the
only thorn in my pillow and that I'm not used to pain and anxiety, or
impatient of all the implicit meaning of your lonely life. Stop, if you
want to stop. I'll see you again, Sabina, please. Now I'll be gone."

When he had mounted his horse and ridden away without more words from
her, Abel, who had been lurking along on the other side of the hedge,
crept through it and rejoined his mother.

They walked on in silence for some time. Then the child spoke.

"Fancy your talking to Mister Ironsyde, mother!"

"He talked to me."

"I lay you dressed him down then?"

"I told him the truth, Abel. He wants everything for nothing, Mister
Ironsyde does. He wants you--for nothing."

"He's a beast, and I hate him, and he'll know I hate him some day."

"Don't hate him. He's not worth hating."

"I will hate him, I tell you. But for him I'd be the great man in
Bridetown when he dies. Mister Baggs told me that."

"You mustn't give heed to what people say. You've got mother to look
after you."

The boy was tired and spoke no more. He padded silently along beside her
and presently she heard him laugh to himself. His thoughts had wandered
back to the joy of the old store.

And she was thinking of what had happened. She, too, even as Raymond,
had imagined what speech would fall out between them after the long
years and wondered concerning the form it would take. She had imagined
no such conversation as this. Half of her regretted it; but the other
half was glad. He had gone on, but it was well that he should know she
had stood still. Could there be any more terrible news for him than to
hear that she had stood still--to feel that he had turned a living woman
into a pillar of stone?

CHAPTER VIII

EPITAPH

It cannot be determined by what train of reasoning Abel proceeded from
one unfortunate experience to create another, or why the grief
incidental on a loss should now have nerved him t