make amends, to atone, while we have still breath and life!

"It is all for the best, anyhow," she murmured after awhile, and when
philosophy is well to the fore, love hides its diminished head.




CHAPTER IV.


Six months wore themselves away; six months in every day of which
John Chetwynd lived a year, measured by the anxiety and misery it
held for him. He could no longer delude himself into the belief that
Bella loved him, for all her actions went to prove the contrary. But
her end just once gained, there were no more bickerings and
disputes--she even condescended to consider her husband's wishes,
when they did not clash or interfere with her own. But night after
night he sat alone with the hateful consciousness that the woman who
bore his name was parading her charms to Dick, Tom and Harry; in
fact, to anybody who chose to pay his shilling for the privilege of
contemplating them. It was in moments such as these that the iron
entered his soul and there was no escape from it; he must bear his
burden as many a better man had borne it before him. And thus it was
he buried himself in his profession, working with a will and vigour
that astonished no one so much as himself. He was rapidly becoming a
popular man. Through sheer good luck (as he really believed it to be)
he had diagnosed one or two cases with an ease and accuracy which not
only filled his purse beyond his utmost expectations, but helped him
up the ladder of fame at an amazing rate. But when emboldened by