er her strange interest in the society of a man for whom she had no
affection, could be that. She did not feel towards Ian as an ordinary
wife might have done, yet his feelings and interests weighed much with
her. Milly, too, she must necessarily consider, but she did that in a
different, an almost vengeful spirit.

One evening Ian, looking up from his work, asked her what she was
smiling at so quietly to herself. And she could not tell him, because it
was at a horrible practical joke suggested to her by an impish spirit
within. What if she should prepare a little surprise for the returning
Milly? Let her find herself planted in Araby the Blest with Maxwell
Davison? Mildred chuckled, wondering to herself which would be in the
biggest rage, Milly or Max; for however Tims might affirm the contrary,
Mildred had a fixed impression that Milly could be in a rage.

The fire-game was hastening to its close; but before Mildred could prove
herself a real mistress of the dangerous element, the sleep fell upon
her.

Except a sensation of fatigue, for which it was easy to find a reason,
there was no warning of the coming change. But Ian had dreams in the
night and opened his eyes in the morning with a feeling of uneasiness
and depression. Mildred could never sleep late without causing him
anxiety, and on this morning his first glance at her filled him with a
dread certainty. She was sleeping what was to her in a measure the sleep
of death. He had a violent impulse to awaken her forcibly; but he feared
it would be dangerous. With his arm around her and his head close to
hers on the pillow, he whispered her name over and over again. The
calmness of her face gradually gave way to an expression of struggle
approaching convulsion, and he dared not continue. He could only await
the inevitable in a misery which from its very nature could find no
expression and no comforter.

Milly, unlike Mildred, did not return to the world in a rapture of
satisfaction with it. The realization of the terrible robbery of life of
which she had again been the victim, was in itself enough to account for
a certain sadness even in her love for Ian and for her child. The
hygiene of the nursery had been neglected according to her ideas, yet
Baby was bonny enough to delight any mother's heart, however heavy it
might be. Ian, she said, wanted feeding up and taking care of; and he
submitted to the process with a gentle, melancholy smile. Just one
request he made