would mean for him something more serious than parting. He could
not have told why, but from the moment when Vashti had turned on him
and asked, "For what work do they pay you?" he had known that
henceforward his conscience would not sleep until he had made a clean
breast to the War Office and resigned his commission. It was not that
her question told him anything new; only that he saw himself judged in
her eyes, and in their light discovered that his conscience had been
tolerating what was really intolerable. Her departure, then, would mean
the end of all things; for on the very next day he would send in his
papers and face the world alone--the very next day, and not until then.
So much respite he gave himself; and this respite, and not the prospect
of parting, cast the only shade upon his happiness. For he felt that he
held her friendship on a false pretence; that if she knew the truth,
she would despise him. That is why the Commandant sat in a brown study.

"They are good children," repeated Vashti, "but like all other children
they know nothing of their elders' troubles. I remember that I was nine
or ten before ever it occurred to me that my father could have any
troubles.... Now from the top of the hill where those three youngsters
sat talking their fairy-tales, I looked over Cromwell's Sound and saw
their father, Eli Tregarthen, pulling across from Inniscaw. By the very
stoop of his shoulders over the paddles I seemed to read that the world
had gone wrong with the man, and when he beached his boat and walked up
the hill towards Saaron Farm, I felt sure of it. Of course you may
laugh and set it down to fancy, for the man was a good three-quarters
of a mile away."

The Commandant, however, did not laugh. "I think, very likely, you are
right," said he; "and the man had been over to Inniscaw to make a last
appeal to the Lord Proprietor."

"I wonder," mused Vashti, "if he is the sort of man to tell his wife?"

The Commandant pondered this and shook his head, meaning that he found
it hard to answer. "I know very little of Tregarthen. In manner, though
polite enough, he always struck me as reserved to the last degree."

"Men of that manner are often the frankest with their wives," said
Vashti; "though again, if you ask me how I know it, I must answer that
I can't tell you." She sat for a moment, her brows puckered with
thought; then, leaning forward, rested her elbows on the table, while
with eyes fixed seriously up