g
he might pass through. It isn't pleasant to sit alone in the corridor
with the men--staring at you--at night. And then I asked the man at
the door if he had seen him, and he said, 'yes,' that he had called a
cab, and then I came home."

They had gone out again together, with Bronson, who was young and
strong, taking the place of the coachman, McChesney, because Mrs. Drake
did not care to have the other servants see her husband at times like
these. "You know how good he is," had been her timid claim on him from
the first, "and you know how hard he tries." And because Bronson knew,
and because he had helped her like the faithful squire that he was, she
had trusted him more and more with this important but secret business.

She had changed her dress for something dark, and she had worn a plain
dark hat and coat. She had not cried a tear and she would not cry.
She had been very brave as they travelled a beaten path, visiting the
places which the General frequented, going on and on until they came to
the country, and to a farm-house where they found him turning night
into day, having roused the amazed inmates to ask for breakfast.

He had paid them well for it, and was ready to set forth again with the
dawn when his wife drove in.

"My dear," he had said, courteously, as his little wife's face peered
out at him from the carriage, "you shouldn't have come."

Sobered for the moment, he had made a handsome figure, as he stood with
uncovered head, his dark hair in a thick curl between his eyes. The
morning was warm and he carried his overcoat on his arm. His patent
leather shoes and the broadcloth of his evening clothes showed the dust
and soil of his walk through the fields. He had evidently dismissed
his cab at the edge of the city and had come crosscountry.

His wife had reached out her little hand to him. "I came because I was
lonely. The house seems so big when you are--away--"

It had wrung Bronson's heart to see her smiling. Yet she had always
met the General with a smile and with the reminder of her need of him.
There had been never a complaint, never a rebuke--at these moments.
When he was himself, she strove with him against his devils. But to
strive when he was not himself, would be to send him away from her.

Her hands were clasped tightly, and her voice shook as she talked on
the way back to the husband who seemed so unworthy of the love she gave.

Yet she had not thought him unworthy. "If I