CHAPTER III

CONFIDENTIAL


Martin Jocelyn awoke with a shiver. He did not remember that he
had been dreaming, but a dull pain in his head and a foreboding
of heart had at last so asserted themselves as to banish the
unconsciousness of sleep. His prospects had even a more sombre hue
than the cold gray of the morning. All the false prismatic colors
of the previous evening had faded, and no serene, steady light had
taken their place. The forced elation was followed--as is ever the
case--by a deeper despondency. The face of his sleeping wife was so
peaceful, so expressive of her utter unconsciousness of impending
disaster, that he could not endure its sight. He felt himself to
be in no condition to meet her waking eyes and explain the cause
of his fears. A sense of shame that he had been so weak the evening
before also oppressed him, and he yielded to the impulse to gain
a day before meeting her trusting or questioning gaze. Something
might occur which would give a better aspect to his affairs, and
at any rate, if the worst must come, he could explain with better
grace in the evening than in his present wretched mood, that would
prove too sharp a contrast with his recent gayety.

He therefore dressed silently and hastily, and left a note saying
that a business engagement required his early departure. "She will
have at least one more serene day before the storm," he muttered.

"Now wasn't that kind and thoughtful of papa to let us all sleep