ught so once. I know I am not now."

"Yes! to have lived--the child on your heart--and never to have uttered
a complaint!--you are brave. O my Lucy! my wife! you that have made
me man! I called you a coward. I remember it. I was the coward--I the
wretched vain fool! Darling! I am going to leave you now. You are brave,
and you will bear it. Listen: in two days, or three, I may be back--back
for good, if you will accept me. Promise me to go to bed quietly. Kiss
the child for me, and tell him his father has seen him. He will learn to
speak soon. Will he soon speak, Lucy?"

Dreadful suspicion kept her speechless; she could only clutch one arm of
his with both her hands.

"Going?" she presently gasped.

"For two or three days. No more--I hope."

"To-night?"

"Yes. Now."

"Going now? my husband!" her faculties abandoned her.

"You will be brave, my Lucy!"

"Richard! my darling husband! Going? What is it takes you from me?" But
questioning no further, she fell on her knees, and cried piteously
to him to stay--not to leave them. Then she dragged him to the little
sleeper, and urged him to pray by his side, and he did, but rose
abruptly from his prayer when he had muttered a few broken words--she
praying on with tight-strung nerves, in the faith that what she said to
the interceding Mother above would be stronger than human hands on him.
Nor could he go while she knelt there.

And he wavered. He had not reckoned on her terrible suffering. She
came to him, quiet. "I knew you would remain." And taking his hand,
innocently fondling it: "Am I so changed from her he loved? You will not
leave me, dear?" But dread returned, and the words quavered as she spoke
them.

He was almost vanquished by the loveliness of her womanhood. She drew
his hand to her heart, and strained it there under one breast. "Come:
lie on my heart," she murmured with a smile of holy sweetness.

He wavered more, and drooped to her, but summoning the powers of hell,
kissed her suddenly, cried the words of parting, and hurried to the
door. It was over in an instant. She cried out his name, clinging to him
wildly, and was adjured to be brave, for he would be dishonoured if he
did not go. Then she was shaken off.

Mrs. Berry was aroused by an unusual prolonged wailing of the child,
which showed that no one was comforting it, and failing to get any
answer to her applications for admittance, she made bold to enter. There
she saw Lucy, the child in her la