e door opens once again to admit her husband. His hands are full
of papers.

"Are you at liberty?" says he. "Have you a moment? These," pointing to
the papers, "want signing. Can you give your attention to them now?"

"What are they?" asks she, rising.

"Mere law papers. You need not look so terrified." His tone is bitter.
"There are certain matters that must be arranged before my
departure--matters that concern your welfare and the boy's. Here,"
laying the papers upon the davenport and spreading them out. "You sign
your name here."

"But," recoiling, "what is it? What does it all mean?"

"It is not your death warrant, I assure you," says he, with a sneer.
"Come, sign!" Seeing her still hesitate, he turns upon her savagely. Who
shall say what hidden storms of grief and regret lie within that burst
of anger?

"Do you want your son to live and die a poor man?" says he. "Come! there
is yourself to be considered, too! Once I am out of your way, you will
be able to begin life again with a light heart; and this," tapping the
paper heavily, "will enable you to do it. I make over to you and the boy
everything--at least, as nearly everything as will enable me to live."

"It should be the other way," says she. "Take everything, and leave us
enough on which to live."

"Why?" says he, facing round, something in her voice that resembles
remorse striking him.

"We--shall have each other," says she, faintly.

"Having happily got rid of such useless lumber as the father and
husband. Well, you will be the happier so," rejoins he with a laugh that
hurts him more than it hurts her, though she cannot know that. "'Two is
company,' you know, according to the good old proverb, 'three trumpery.'
You and he will get on very well without me, no doubt."

"It is your arrangement," says she.

"If that thought is a salve to your conscience, pray think so," rejoins
he. "It isn't worth an argument. We are only wasting time." He hands her
the pen; she takes it mechanically, but makes no use of it.

"You will at least tell me where you are going?" says she.

"Certainly I should, if I only knew myself. To America first, but that
is a big direction, and I am afraid the tenderest love letter would not
reach me through it. When your friends ask you, say I have gone to the
North Pole; it is as likely a destination as another."

"But not to know!" says she, lifting her dark eyes to his--dark eyes
that seem to glow like fire in her white face