ow a dangerous and
despairing foresight of even worse things in store. In the middle of her
suffering, she already began to feel at moments the ascetic's terrible
sense of compensation. What, after all, is the Christian life but
warfare? '_I came not to send peace, but a sword!_'

Yes, in these June days Elsmere's happiness was perhaps nearer wreck
than it had ever been. All strong natures grow restless under such a
pressure as was now weighing on Catherine. Shock and outburst become
inevitable.

So she sat alone this hot afternoon, haunted by presentiments, by vague
terror for herself and him; while the child tottered about her, cooing,
shouting, kissing, and all impulsively, with a ceaseless energy, like
her father.

The outer door opened and she heard Robert's step and apparently Mr.
Flaxman's also. There was a hurried rushed word or two in the hall, and
the two entered the room where she was sitting.

Robert came, pressing back the hair from his eyes with a gesture which
with him was the invariable accompaniment of mental trouble. Catherine
sprang up.

'Robert, you look so tired! and how late you are!' Then as she came
nearer to him: 'And your coat--_torn--blood!_'

'There is nothing wrong with _me_, dear,' he said hastily, taking her
hands 'nothing! But it has been an awful afternoon. Flaxman will tell
you. I must go to this place, I suppose, though I hate the thought of
it! Flaxman, will you tell her all about it?' And, loosing his hold, he
went heavily out of the room and upstairs.

'It has been an accident,' said Flaxman gently, coming forward, 'to one
of the men of his class. May we sit down, Mrs. Elsmere? Your husband and
I have gone through a good deal these last two hours.'

He sat down with, a long breath, evidently to regain, his ordinary even
manner. His clothes, too, were covered with dust, and his hand shook.
Catherine stood before him in consternation, while a nurse came for the
child.

'We had just begun our committee at four o'clock,' he said at last,
'though only about half of the men had arrived when there was a great
shouting and commotion outside, and a man rushed in calling for Elsmere.
We ran out, found a great crowd, a huge brewer's dray standing in the
street and a man run over. Your husband pushed his way in. I followed,
and, to my horror, I found him kneeling by--Charles Richards!'

'Charles Richards?' Catherine repeated vacantly.

Flaxman looked up at her, as though puzzled;