an a third of a century, and at the end of that time understand
each other little better than at the beginning. The sole bond between
Euphrasia and Hilary was that of Sarah Austen and her son. Euphrasia
never knew when Hilary was tired, or when he was cold, or hungry, or
cross, although she provided for all these emergencies. Her service to
him was unflagging, but he had never been under the slightest delusion
that it was not an inheritance from his wife. There must have been some
affection between Mr. Vane and his housekeeper, hidden away in the strong
boxes of both but up to the present this was only a theory--not quite as
probable as that about the inhabitants of Mars.

He ate his supper to-night with his usual appetite, which had always been
sparing; and he would have eaten the same amount if the Northeastern
Railroads had been going into the hands of a receiver the next day. Often
he did not exchange a word with Euphrasia between home-coming and
bed-going, and this was apparently to be one of these occasions. After
supper he went, as usual, to sit on the steps of his porch, and to cut
his piece of Honey Dew, which never varied a milligram. Nine o'clock
struck, and Euphrasia, who had shut up the back of the house, was on her
way to bed with her lamp in her hand, when she came face to face with him
in the narrow passageway.

"Where's Austen?" he asked.

Euphrasia halted. The lamp shook, but she raised it to the level of his
eyes.

"Don't you know?" she demanded.

"No," he said, with unparalleled humility.

She put down the lamp on the little table that stood beside her.

"He didn't tell you he was a-goin'?"

"No," said Hilary.

"Then how did you know he wasn't just buggy-ridin'?" she said.

Hilary Vane was mute.

"You've be'n to his room!" she exclaimed. "You've seen his things are
gone!"

He confessed it by his silence. Then, with amazing swiftness and vigour
for one of her age, Euphrasia seized him by the arms and shook him.

"What have you done to him?" she cried; "what have you done to him? You
sent him off. You've never understood him--you've never behaved like a
father to him. You ain't worthy to have him." She flung herself away and
stood facing Hilary at a little distance. What a fool I was! What a fool!
I might have known it, and I promised him."

"Promised him?" Hilary repeated. The shaking, the vehemence and anger, of
Euphrasia seemed to have had no effect whatever on the main trend of his