chair, please."

He stood with his hands resting on the back of the chair. "Why do you
hold me off with such stubbornness? Why continue to be so unnatural a
child, so incomprehensible a woman?" Even now he did not forget to
measure his sentences, but with the depth of his earnestness his voice
was wavering, "You know----"

"Yes, I know," she broke in, looking full at him, and her face smote him
with pity. "But this is no time for explanations." She turned toward the
door.

"Are you going to leave me?" he asked, following her.

"Yes. Mother will tell you all that is to be told."

She went out and closed the door. The Major walked softly up and down
the room, listening, but he heard nothing save the creaking of the house
and the moaning of the wind in the old plum thicket. A long time passed,
and then Mrs. Cranceford entered. Her eyes were wet with tears. "It is
all over," she said. At the moment the Major made no reply. He led her
to a chair, and when she had sat down, looking up at him, he leaned over
her and said: "Margaret, I know you can't help appreciating my position;
and I feel that I am the keenest sufferer under this roof, for to me all
consolation is denied. Now, what is expected of me? I am going to make
no more protests--I am going to do as I am instructed. What is expected
of me?"

"Go home, dear, and wait until I come," she answered.

"But doesn't that seem hard, Margaret?"

"Yes; but it is her wish and we must not oppose it."

"I will do as you say," he replied, and kissing her he added: "If you
can, make her feel that I love her. Tell her that I acknowledge all the
wrong." He stepped out into the passage, but he came back to the door,
and standing there for a moment, he said: "Make her feel that I love
her."

CHAPTER XIII.

Pennington was buried in the yard of the church wherein he had taught
school. No detail of the arrangements was submitted to the Major. For a
time he held out that the family burial ground was the proper place for
the interment, under the trees where his father and his mother were laid
to rest, but Louise stood in strong opposition to this plan, even though
appearances called for its adoption. So, after this, the Major offered
no suggestion.

At the grave there was no hysterical grief. The day was bleak and the
services were short. When all had been done, the Major gently put his
arm about his daughter and said that she must go home with him.

"Not now," she r