. The hope you have so clearly expressed
in many ways that time would take me out of your path is at last about
to be fulfilled."

"I have had no such hope."

"No! You can look me in the face and say that! Saintly lips never lie,
however, do they? Well, I'm sick of this life; you are not. I have borne
a good deal from you, as I told you before. I'll bear no more. I give
in. Fate has been too strong for me."

"You have created your own fate."

"You are my fate! You are inexorable! There is no reason why I should
stay."

Here the sound of running, childish, pattering footsteps can be heard
outside the door, and a merry little shout of laughter. The door is
suddenly burst open in rather unconventional style, and Bertie rushes
into the room, a fox terrier at his heels. The dog is evidently quite as
much up to the game as the boy, and both race tempestuously up the room
and precipitate themselves against Lady Baltimore's skirts. Round and
round her the chase continues, until the boy, bursting away from his
mother, dashes toward his father, the terrier after him.

There isn't so much scope for talent in a pair of trousers as in a mass
of dainty petticoats, and presently Bertie grows tired, flings himself
down upon the ground, and lets the dog tumble over him there. The joust
is virtually at an end.

Lady Baltimore, who has stood immoveable during the attack upon her,
always with that cold, white, beautiful look upon her face, now points
to the stricken child lying panting, laughing, and playing with the dog
at his father's feet.

"There is a reason!" says she, almost inaudibly.

Baltimore shakes his head. "I have thought all that out. It is not
enough," says he.

"Bertie!" says his mother, turning to the child. "Do you know this, that
your father is going to leave you?"

"Going?" says the boy vaguely, forgetting the dog for a moment and
glancing upward. "Where?"

"Away. Forever."

"Where?" says the boy again. He rises to his feet now, and looks
anxiously at his father; then he smiles and flings himself into his
arms. "Oh, no!" says he, in a little soft, happy, sure sort of a way.

"Forever! Forever!" repeals Isabel in a curious monotone.

"Take me up," says the child, tugging at his father's arms. "What does
mamma mean? Where are you going?"

"To America, to shoot bears," returns Baltimore with an embarrassed
laugh. How near to tears it is.

"Real live bears?"

"Yes."

"Take me with you"? says the c