that it did not matter, and that he had done his father a
kindness by ridding him of such an ugly plate. Then Vada stumbled into
the garbage pail and had to be carefully wiped, while Jamie smeared
his sparse hair with rancid dripping and insisted he was "Injun,"
vociferously proclaiming his desire to "talp" his sister.

But the crowning disaster came when he attempted to put his threat
into execution. He seized a bunch of her hair in his two chubby hands
and began to drag her round the room. Her howls drew Scipio's
attention from his work, and he turned to find them a struggling heap
upon the floor. He dashed to part them, kicked over a bucket of
drinking water in his well-meant hurry, and, finally, had to rescue
them, both drenched to the skin, from the untimely bath.

There was nothing for it but to strip off all their clothes and dress
them up in their nightgowns, for as yet he had no knowledge of their
wardrobe, and send them out to get warm in the sun, while he dried
their day-clothes at the cookstove.

It was the climax. The man flung himself into a chair and buried his
face in his hands. The mask had dropped from him. There was no longer
any need for pretense. Once more the grief and horror of his disaster
broke through his guard and left him helpless. The whole world, his
life, everything was engulfed in an abyss of black despair.

He was dry-eyed and desperate. But now somehow his feelings contained
an emotion that the first shock of his loss had not brought him. He
was no longer a prey to a weak, unresisting submission, the grief of
a tortured gentle heart. There was another feeling. A feeling of anger
and resentment which slowly grew with each moment, and sent the hot
blood surging furiously to his brain. Nor was this feeling directed
against Jessie. How could it be? He loved her so that her cruel
desertion of him appeared to be a matter for which he was chiefly to
blame. Yes, he understood. He was not the husband for her. How could
it be otherwise? He had no cleverness. He had always been a failure.
No, his anger was not against Jessie. It was the other. It was the man
who had robbed him of all he cared for in the world.

His anger grew hotter and hotter. And with this growing passion there
came an absolute revulsion of the motive force that had always
governed him. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to hurt this man, Lord
James. And his simple mind groped for a means to carry out his desire.
He began to thin