her with bold eyes, holding her husband's hand, saying in
what seemed to her to be brutal, or insane, or silly melodramatic
make-believe, "But I love him, Mrs. Witla," was maddening. Oh, God! Oh,
God! Would her tortures never cease? Must all her beautiful dreams come
to nothing? Would Eugene leave her, as he so violently said a little
while ago? She had never seen him like this. It was terrible to see him
so determined, so cold and brutal. His voice had actually been harsh and
guttural, something she had never known before in him.

She trembled as she thought, and then great flashes of rage swept her
only to be replaced by rushes of fear. She was in such a terrific
position. The woman was with him, young, defiant, beautiful. She had
heard him call to her, had heard them talking. Once she thought that now
would be the time to murder him, Suzanne, herself, the coming life and
end it all; but at this critical moment, having been sick and having
grown so much older, with this problem of the coming life before her,
she had no chart to go by. She tried to console herself with the thought
that he must abandon his course, that he would when the true force of
what she had revealed had had time to sink home; but it had not had time
yet. Would it before he did anything rash? Would it before he had
completely compromised himself and Suzanne? Judging from her talk and
his, he had not as yet, or she thought not. What was he going to do?
What was he going to do?

Angela feared as she lay there that in spite of her revelation he might
really leave her immediately. There might readily spring a terrible
public scandal out of all this. The mockery of their lives laid bare;
the fate of the child jeopardized; Eugene, Suzanne, and herself
disgraced, though she had little thought for Suzanne. Suzanne might get
him, after all. She might accidentally be just hard and cold enough. The
world might possibly forgive him. She herself might die! What an end,
after all her dreams of something bigger, better, surer! Oh, the pity,
the agony of this! The terror and horror of a wrecked life!

And then Eugene came into the room.

He was haggard, stormy-eyed, thoughtful, melancholy, as he entered. He
stood in the doorway first, intent, then clicked a little night-lamp
button which threw on a very small incandescent light near the head of
Angela's bed, and then sat down in a rocking-chair which the nurse had
placed near the medicine table. Angela had so m