n then she did not understand.

"I found them," he explained, furtively stroking the shabby sheets, but
attempting a bluff and off-hand tone, "I found them--Oh, years
ago!--just stuck off in a cupboard _like trash that nobody wanted any
more_. And so--because I _did_ want them--I brought them down here."

"_You_ wanted them?" Sheila gasped. "But, Ted----"

And then he had her in his arms, and his eyes--full of the tears he had
tried to repress--were gazing down into hers!

"Don't you suppose I realize what you might have done? Don't you
suppose I've seen what you've given up for me--for me and Eric?"

She could not speak. She could only gaze back at him, incredulous
still of the comprehension that he had so long concealed from her.

"I've been a selfish brute, Sheila," he went on. "I've craved all of
you for myself and my child, and I've had all of you. It's been my
man's way, I reckon, for I couldn't have helped it. If I had it to do
over again, it would be just the same--though I'm ashamed of myself
now. Of course I didn't ask you to give up your writing, but I'd quite
as well have asked you. For I guessed that you'd done it--after Eric
had scarlet fever--and I _let_ you, without a word. I've let you
sacrifice your talent ever since, too--needlessly. Yes, I've _let_
you--for I've seen the whole thing."

She had sometimes felt that the tragedy of her life had been in all
that Ted had not seen. Now, finding that he had seen so much more than
she had ever suspected--so much of what had been profound suffering to
her--she might readily have blamed him more than she had ever done
before. But generosity rushed out of her to meet his
generosity--belated though his was.

"No, no," she interrupted, "it isn't that you let me give up my work.
The fault isn't yours. That awful night--when it seemed that Eric
would die--I offered my work for his life--I offered it to _God_! That
was why I didn't write afterward."

Ted fixed pitying eyes upon her: "You poor little girl! Was it as bad
as that with you? I knew I was taking advantage of your conscience,
but I never dreamed you'd carried your remorse so far. Did you really
believe you had to buy God's mercy? Oh, no, dear. It's only your
husband that's seized the opportunity to extract a sacrifice from your
Puritan conscience. But with all my selfishness, I haven't stopped
you--I haven't been the end of your talent."

She started to tell him of her late e