seemed to her the last shred of duty she owed to her marriage ties--she
served in her husband's home as hostess, and by her mere presence she
avoided betraying him to the scorn of those who could not know all, and
so might not judge justly.

Then the crisis came that shocked Meredith into consciousness and forced
her to act, for the first time in her life, independently.

Thornton was about to go, again, to England. The day before he sailed he
came into his wife's sitting room, where she lay upon a couch, suffering
from a severe headache.

She never mentioned her pain or loneliness, and to Thornton's careless
glance she appeared as she always did--pale, cold, and self-centred.

"Well, I sail at noon to-morrow!" he said, seating himself astride a
chair, folding his arms and settling his chin on them.

"Yes? Is there anything particular that you want me to look after in
your absence?"

Meredith barely raised her eyes. Her pain was intense, but Thornton saw
only indifference and an unconscious insolence in the words, tone, and
languid glance.

Never before in his life had he been balked and defied and resented as
he was by the pretty creature before him. The devil rose in him--and
generally Thornton rode his devil with courage and control, but
suddenly it reared, and he was thrown!