r below.
How amusing it would be to drop pebbles in and watch them sink."

"Here is a stray one on the seat," said Philip, throwing it overboard.
Eleanor watches the descent with sparkling eyes.

"It is still in sight," she cries, "whirling through the water! My
word! how clear the lake is. I must see it again."

She glances round, but there are no more stones.

Before Philip has time to stop her she opens her purse and drops a coin
over the side of the boat.

"Look! there it goes," laughing lightly. "Isn't it fascinating?"

[Illustration: "Look! there it goes."]

The rower has stopped, and with eager, covetous eyes watches the wilful
waste. Those coins would mean bread to him and his children, while she
throws them to feed the deep! Another and yet another fall from her
slim hands.

Philip has turned quite pale with auger.

"Stop! Eleanor," he says, sternly, "you do not realise what you are
doing. It is wicked."

But she shrugs her shoulders and drops another.

"Do you hear what I say?" he mutters, grasping her wrist. "I'll have
no more of this. Look at that poor fellow's eyes; why, he would like
to murder you. It is enough to call down the judgment of Heaven upon
us."

"Just one more, only five centimes, Philip, and the man shall have all
that is left in my purse."

"No," he replies, still retaining her arm in an iron grip.

"Don't; you hurt me."

He removes his hand, and with a defiant look Eleanor flings the coin
into the lake, watching it whirl below with redoubled interest.

"Gott!" mutters the boatman under his breath, "what tevilry."

Then, without a sign of shame, Eleanor passes a handful of money to the
sunburnt fellow, casting a smile of ineffable sweetness upon him.

"For the little ones," she says.

But Philip's brow is still black.

"It was wicked," he repeats.

Eleanor only laughs.

"You deserve to want in the future."

"The future," she replies lightly, "who thinks of the future? It may
be dark enough to frighten the very life out of you--a thing to make
you scream----"

Philip shudders. Storm clouds are gathering overhead. This is the
last day of his honeymoon.

CHAPTER IV.

LIFE IS A JEST.

A great red sun that is warm and kind sinks behind the golden trees,
rich with autumnal tints, as Philip and Eleanor drive up to
"Lyndhurst," on Richmond Terrace.

"So this is your home--_my_ home?" she cries, her eyes sparkling with
delight as they rest on h