might emerge presently and strut off arm in arm in the direction
of the pork emporium.

One last picture. On summer evenings I had caught glimpses of
them through the open window, when she sat at the piano singing
and playing to him. Or while she played with one hand, she flung
out the other for him to grasp. She was so joyously happy, and
she had such a romantic mind. I conceived her so sympathetic
that she always laughed before he came to the joke, and I am sure
she had filmy eyes from the very start of a pathetic story.

And so, laughing and crying, and haunted by whispers, the little
nursery governess had gradually become another woman, glorified,
mysterious. I suppose a man soon becomes used to the great
change, and cannot recall a time when there were no babes
sprawling in his Mary's face.

I am trying to conceive what were the thoughts of the young
husband on the other side of the street. "If the barrier is to
be crossed to-night may I not go with her? She is not so brave
as you think her. When she talked so gaily a few hours ago, O my
God, did she deceive even you?"

Plain questions to-night. "Why should it all fall on her? What
is the man that he should be flung out into the street in this
terrible hour? You have not been fair to the man."

Poor boy, his wife has quite forgotten him and his trumpery love.
If she lives she will come back to him, but if she dies she will
die triumphant and serene. Life and death, the child and the