athanael, look here. What is the matter with your wife?"

"Nothing," Agatha cried. "I have only stupified myself with--with
thinking. I will think no more--no more."

She tossed her head back with a fierce laugh. Her husband, who had
half-risen at Mary's call, resumed his seat, making no remark.

He had never been used to show her much fondness or attention before
his family, so it did not appear strange that in the few minutes
before dinner he should talk to his sisters, and leave his wife to
the courtesies of his father. For it was now an acknowledged fact at
Kingcombe Holm that the Squire was growing very fond of Agatha.

Dinner came, the long, dreadful dinner, with the brilliant light
glimmering in her face, and showing every expression there; with old
Mr. Harper leaning forward to address her every time she relapsed
into silence; with the consciousness upon her that there was no medium
course, that she must talk and laugh, fast and recklessly, or else fall
into tears; with the knowledge, worst of all, that there was one
sitting at the bottom of the table whom she dared not look at, but whom
nevertheless she perpetually saw.

Her husband had taken his usual place, and sustained it in his usual
manner. There was the same brotherly chat with Mary and Eulalie,
the same answers to his father, and when once, in the dinner-table
courtesies, he addressed his wife, the tone was precisely as it had ever
been.

Agatha could have shrieked back her answer, betraying him to all the
household! This smooth outside of daily life--and with what below? It
was horrible.

Yet she felt herself powerless to burst through it. His perfect silence,
leaving his honour, the honour of both, in her hands, was like a chain
of iron wrapped round her; however she writhed and dashed herself
against it, there it was.

The Squire seemed to remain at table longer than ever to-day. He would
not let his woman-kind depart. He had many toasts to give, and various
old reminiscences to unfold to his daughter-in-law. She heard all in
a misty dream, and kept on vaguely smiling. At last the purgatory was
ended, and they rose.

Nathanael held the door open for his wife and sisters to retire--things
went on so formally even in the every-day life at Kingcombe Holm. In
passing, Agatha felt as if she must burst through that icy barrier he
had drawn; she _must_ meet her husband's look, and compel him to meet
hers. She gave him a look, proud, threatening,