t their wives' debts. I have chosen my part. I can't stultify
myself to please you.'

She knew that this was final. His voice had the true ring of shame in
revolt.

'Then go your way, and I will go mine!'

Amy left the room.

When Reardon went into the bedchamber an hour later, he unfolded a
chair-bedstead that stood there, threw some rugs upon it, and so lay
down to pass the night. He did not close his eyes. Amy slept for an hour
or two before dawn, and on waking she started up and looked anxiously
about the room. But neither spoke.

There was a pretence of ordinary breakfast; the little servant
necessitated that. When she saw her husband preparing to go out, Amy
asked him to come into the study.

'How long shall you be away?' she asked, curtly.

'It is doubtful. I am going to look for rooms.'

'Then no doubt I shall be gone when you come back. There's no object,
now, in my staying here till to-morrow.'

'As you please.'

'Do you wish Lizzie still to come?'

'No. Please to pay her wages and dismiss her. Here is some money.'

'I think you had better let me see to that.'

He flung the coin on to the table and opened the door. Amy stepped
quickly forward and closed it again.

'This is our good-bye, is it?' she asked, her eyes on the ground.

'As you wish it--yes.'

'You will remember that I have not wished it.'

'In that case, you have only to go with me to the new home.'

'I can't.'

'Then you have made your choice.'

She did not prevent his opening the door this time, and he passed out
without looking at her.

His return was at three in the afternoon. Amy and the child were gone;
the servant was gone. The table in the dining-room was spread as if for
one person's meal.

He went into the bedroom. Amy's trunks had disappeared. The child's cot
was covered over. In the study, he saw that the sovereign he had thrown
on to the table still lay in the same place.

As it was a very cold day he lit a fire. Whilst it burnt up he sat
reading a torn portion of a newspaper, and became quite interested in
the report of a commercial meeting in the City, a thing he would never
have glanced at under ordinary circumstances. The fragment fell at
length from his hands; his head drooped; he sank into a troubled sleep.

About six he had tea, then began the packing of the few books that were
to go with him, and of such other things as could be enclosed in box
or portmanteau. After a couple of hours of this occup