ble
home, and I might have kept out of trouble, if she had listened to me;
but I might as well have spoken to that wall.'

'But surely it was your duty as her husband to restrain her? Her son
manages her quite easily now.'

'Perhaps so,' a little sullenly; 'maybe she cares for her son, though
she turned against her husband; her heart was always like flint stone
to me. I was afraid of her, Captain Burnett, and she knew it; and that
gave her a handle over me. A man ought not to fear his own wife--it is
against nature; but, there, when she looked at me in her cold,
contemptuous way, and dared me to dictate to her, I felt all my courage
ooze out of me. I could have struck her when she looked at me like that;
and I think she wanted me to, just to make out a case against me: but,
fool that I was, I was too fond of her and the children to do it. I bore
it all, and perilled my good name for her sake; and this is how she has
treated me--spurned me away from her as though I were a dog!'

'She has not been a good wife to you; but, all the same, I do not
understand why you took her at her word. Did you never in all these
years make an effort to be reconciled with her for the sake of your
children?'

'You do not know Olive when you put such a question. There will be no
reconciliation possible in this world. I may compel her to own herself
my wife, but I could not force her to say a kind word to me. She talked
me over into setting her free, and made me promise not to hunt her out.
She got over me. Olive is a rare talker; she told me it would be better
for the little chaps not to bear their father's name--she would take
them away and bring them up to be good, honest men, and she would take
care no shame should ever touch them; and would you believe it, sir, I
was so cowed and broken with the thought of all those years I was to
spend in prison, that for the time I agreed with her. It was just as
though I had made her a promise to commit suicide. I was to let her and
the children go, and not to put in my claims when they set me free; and
as she talked and I answered her, it seemed to me as though Mat O'Brien
were already dead.'

CHAPTER XXXVI

'HOW CAN I BEAR IT?'

'Through that gloom he will see but a shadow appearing,
Perceive but a voice as I come to his side;
But deeper their voice grows, and nobler their bearing,
Whose youth in the fires of anguish hath died.'