at Easter for a trip abroad, and when
we have started to go to Switzerland or somewhere, I will change my
mind, and make him think of Greece or somewhere far, far away--the East
where there will be no newspapers. Tell me when the trial will come on,
and how long you think it will last, and I will keep him away till it is
all over. John! you have nothing surely to say against that? Think from
how much it will save the boy."

"It is impossible, Elinor, that the boy can be saved. I never knew of
this complication, but there are other circumstances, of which I have
lately heard."

"What can any other circumstances have to do with it, John, even if he
must hear? I know, I know, you have always been determined upon that. Is
that the way you would have him hear, not only that he has a father, but
that his father was involved in--in transactions like that before ever
he was born?"

"Elinor, let us understand each other," said Mr. Tatham. "You mean that
you have it in your power to exonerate your husband, and he has had you
subpoenaed, knowing this?"

She looked at him with a look which he could not fathom. Was it reluctance
to save Phil Compton that was in Elinor's eyes? Was she ready to leave
her husband to destruction when she could prevent it, in order to save
her boy from the knowledge of his existence? John Tatham was horrified
by the look she fixed upon him, though he could not read it. He thought
he could read it, and read it that way, in the way of hate and deliberate
preference of her own will to all law and justice. There could be
no such tremendous testimony to the power of that long continued,
absolutely-faithful, visionary love which John Tatham bore to Elinor
than that this discovery which he thought he had made did not destroy
it. He was greatly shocked, but it made no difference in his feelings.
Perhaps there was more of the brotherly character in them than he
thought. For a moment they looked at each other, and he thought he made
this discovery--while she met his eyes with that look which she did not
know was inscrutable, which she feared was full of self-betrayal. "I
believe," she said, bending her head, "that that is what he thinks."

"If it had been me," said John Tatham, moved out of his habitual calm,
"I would rather be proved guilty of anything than owe my safety to such
an expedient as that. Drag in a woman who hates me to prove my alibi as
if she loved me! By Jove, Elinor! you women have the gift o