whole body shaken with sobs, and an air of long neglect about her
person. Between her sobs she was confessing to him some crime which she
had committed, but he did not catch the broken words, nor did he wish to
hear them, for he was dulled by his sorrow. So they continued walking
together in sadness as it were for ever, he with his arm about her
waist, she turning her head to him and often casting her eyes down in
distress.

At last they sat down, and he spoke, saying: "I know they are not my
children, but I shall not use them barbarously because of that. You are
still my wife. I swear to you they shall never be neglected. I will pay
for their education."

Then he began turning over the names of schools in his mind. Eton would
not do, nor Harrow, nor Winchester, nor Rugby.... But he could not tell
why these schools would not do for these children of hers, he only knew
that every school he thought of was impossible, but surely one could be
found. So turning over the names of schools he sat for a long while
holding his dear wife's hand, till at length, still weeping, she got up
and went away and then slowly he awoke.

But even when he had opened his eyes and looked about him he was
thinking of schools, saying to himself that he must send them to a
private academy, or even at the worst engage a tutor. "Why, yes," he
said to himself, putting one foot out of bed, "that is what it must be,
a tutor, though even then there will be a difficulty at first."

At those words he wondered what difficulty there would be and
recollected that they were not ordinary children. No, they were
foxes--mere foxes. When poor Mr. Tebrick had remembered this he was, as