and apparent satisfaction with the company and life
into which he was thrown. The men, indeed, all seemed satisfied. They
had cigars to smoke, and they told stories and played cards, and so
beguiled the weary hours of travel. The women were headachy and tired;
they soon threw aside their paper novels and confidential talks. Some
of the very young ones--pretty, wilful, inexperienced girls, not yet
disillusioned, not yet weary--added flirtation to their amusements. It
pained Denasia to see Roland a willing aid to their foolish pastime.
She had no fear that her husband would wrong her, but the pretence
pained and humbled her.

It was a wearisome seven months, a nightmare kind of life, unrelieved
by even a phantom show of success. Men in the Sierras, out on the
great Western plains, knew not the sea. They could not be roused to
enthusiasm. Fisher-folk and fisher-life were outside their sympathies.
They preferred a comic song--a song that hit a famous person, or a
political principle, or a Western foible. Miners liked to hear about
"Leadville Jim." It touched their sensibilities when the "Three
Fishers who Went Sailing out into the West" made no picture in their
minds. Without being a failure, Denasia could not be said to be a
success. She was out of her place, and consequently out of sympathy
with all that touched her life.

Coming back eastward, while they were at Denver Denasia was stricken
with typhoid fever. It was the result of months of unsatisfactory,
unhappy labour, of worry and fret and disappointment. Nostalgia also
of the worst kind had attacked her. She shut her eyes against the
great mountains and endless plains. She wanted the sea. She wanted her
home. Above all, she wanted to hide herself in her mother's breast.
Roland had been frequently unkind to her lately. She had been utterly
unable to respond to his moods, so different from her own, and she had
been more and more pained by the silly attentions he bestowed on
others.

At last she could endure it no longer. She had come to a point of
indifference. "Leave me and let me die." This was all she said
when Roland was at length forced to believe that her sickness was
not temper, or disappointment, or jealousy. The company were
compelled to leave her; Roland saw his favourites on the train and
then he returned to nurse his sick wife. He found her insensible,
and she remained so for many days. Doctors were called, and
Roland conscientiously remained by her si