was my husband has shamed me, left me. Well--"

The door of the house opened; a man came out. His wife leaned a little
forward, and something clicked ominously in her hand. But a voice came
up the road towards them through the clear air--the voice of Tom Liffey.
The husband paused to listen; the wife mechanically did the same. The
husband remembered this afterwards: it was the key to, and the beginning
of, a tragedy. These are the words the Irishman sang:

"She was a queen, she stood up there before me,
My blood went roarin' when she touched my hand;
She kissed me on the lips, and then she swore me
To die for her--and happy was the land."

A new and singular look came into her face. It trans formed her.
"That," she said in a whisper to herself--"that! He knows the way."

As her husband turned towards his home, she turned also. He heard the
rustle of garments, and he could just discern the cloaked figure in the
shadows. He hurried on; the figure flitted ahead of him. A fear
possessed him in spite of his will. He turned back. The figure stood
still for a moment, then followed him. He braced himself, faced about,
and walked towards it: it stopped and waited. He had not the courage.
He went back again swiftly towards the house he had left. Again he
looked behind him. The figure was standing, not far, in the pines. He
wheeled suddenly towards the house, turned a key in the door, and
entered.

Then the wife went to that which had been her home: Heldon did not go
thither until the first flush of morning. Pierre, returning from an all-