soon grew as restless as before. Finally there was nothing that united
us except the child. I can't really say that we were united through
him, but our love for the boy was the one feeling that we had in
common. When he was three years old, he died. Melicent had come to
live with us after leaving school. She was a high-spirited girl full
of conceits as she is now, and in her exaggerated way became filled
with horror of what she called the mesalliance I had made. After a
month she went away to live with friends. I didn't oppose her. I saw
little of my wife, being often away from home; but as feebly observant
as I was, I had now and again marked a peculiarity of manner about her
that vaguely troubled me. She seemed to avoid me and we grew more and
more divided.

"One day I returned home rather early. Melicent was with me. We found
Fanny in the dining-room lying on the sofa. As we entered, she looked
at us wildly and in striving to get up grasped aimlessly at the back
of a chair. I felt on a sudden as if there were some awful calamity
threatening my existence. I suppose, I looked helplessly at Melicent,
managing to ask her what was the matter with my wife. Melicent's black
eyes were flashing indignation. 'Can't you see she's been drinking.
God help you,' she said. Mrs. Lafirme, you know now the reason which
drove me away from home and kept me away. I never permitted my wife to
want for the comforts of life during my absence; but she sued for
divorce some years ago and it was granted, with alimony which I
doubled. You know the miserable story now. Pardon me for dragging it
to such a length. I don't see why I should have told it after all."

Therese had remained perfectly silent; rigid at times, listening to
Hosmer often with closed eyes.

He waited for her to speak, but she said nothing for a while till
finally: "Your--your wife is still quite young--do her parents live
with her?"

"Oh no, she has none. I suppose she lives alone."

"And those habits; you don't know if she continues them?"

"I dare say she does. I know nothing of her, except that she receipts
for the amount paid her each month."

The look of painful thought deepened on Therese's face but her
questions having been answered, she again became silent.

Hosmer's eyes were imploring her for a look, but she would not answer
them.

"Haven't you a word to say to me?" he entreated.

"No, I have nothing to say, except what would give you pain."

"I can b