ree to come in if you
wished."

"Have you thought it likely I might come some day?"

"I expected, sooner or later, to hear from you."

He had a cane, and kept slashing with it at the green growths by his
feet. When he missed his aim at any particular object, he stopped and
struck again, more fiercely.

"Does Cecily come to see you?" was his next question, uttered as if
unconcernedly.

"No."

"But you know about her? You know where she is?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what you know, Miriam. How is she living?"

"I had much rather not speak of her. I don't feel that I have any right
to."

"Why not?" he asked quickly, standing still. "What is there to hide?
Why had you rather not speak?"

"For reasons that you understand well enough. What is it to you how she
lives?"

He searched her face, like one suspecting a studied ambiguity. His
eyes, which were a little bloodshot, grew larger and more turbid; a
repulsive animalism came out in all his features.

"Do tell me what you know, Miriam," he pleaded. "Of course it's nothing
to me; I know that. I have no wish to interfere with her; I promise you
to do nothing of the kind; I promise solemnly!"

"You promise?" she exclaimed, not harshly, but with stern significance.
"How can you use such words? Under what circumstances could I put faith
in a promise of yours, Reuben?"

He struck violently at the trunk of a tree, and his cane broke; then he
flung it away, still more passionately.

"You're right enough. What do I care? I lie more often than I tell the
truth. I have a sort of pride in it. If a man is to be a liar, let him
be a thorough one.--Do you know why I smashed the stick? I had a
devilish temptation to strike you across the face with it. That would
have been nice, wouldn't it?"

"You had better go your own way, Reuben, and let me go mine."

She drew apart, and not without actual fear of him, so brutal he
looked, and so strangely coarse had his utterance become.

"You needn't be afraid. If I _had_ hit you, I'd have gone away and
killed myself; so perhaps it's a pity I didn't. I felt a savage hatred
of you, and just because I wanted you to take my hand and be gentle
with me. I suppose you can't understand that? You haven't gone deep
enough into life."

His voice choked, and Miriam saw tears start from his eyes.

"I hope I never may," she answered gently. "Have done with all that,
and talk to me like yourself, Reuben."

"Talk! I've had enough of talking. I w