Mrs. Falchion, Volume 1.

istory of Mrs. Falchion. I was standing beside Belle Treherne as the ship came within hail of us and signalled to see what was the matter. Mrs.

her deck-chair and leaned her cheek meditatively on the marine-glass. But I saw now that something was added to the expression of her

eplied. "Only since

ry clever,

ere was no occasion for it, and I said: "Yes, s

too-very beautiful.

lked with he

y: "Do you know, she impressed me as having singular frankness and singular reserve as well? I think I admired it. There is no feeling i

e (a feminine trait), and I replied: "Are both those articles necessary to any one

Marmion, I am only a girl, I know, and inexperienced, but I hoped most people of education and knowledge of life were free from that kind of cynicism to be read of in books." T

ent experience with Mrs. Falchion. Her fine womanliness awoke; the purity of her thoughts, rose in

n a Friday

board, and my hand could not cure his sickness. How he fared, my uncomfortable mind, now bitterly alive to a sense of duty, almost hesitated to inquire. Yet a change had come. A reaction had set in for me. Would it be

his sarcasm would be too outspoken for me just at present. In this, however, I did not give him credit for a fine sense of consideration, as after events showed. Although there had been no spoken understanding between us that Mrs. Falchion was the wife of Boyd Madras, the mind of one was the other's also. I understood exactly why he told me Boyd Madras's story:

mplacently regard a hasty transference of attention from another to herself. Besides, it would be neither courteous nor reasonable to break with Mrs. Falchion abruptly. The error was mine, not hers. She had not my knowledge of the immediate circumstances, which made m

n the pathology of the nervous system, when Hungerford appeared at the door. With a nod, he entered, threw himself down on

thus turning my face fr

g. I suppose he wishes I had left him in

eed,

e shadow a woman who wouldn't lift her finger t

," I said, in

the

ford. I suppose he is s

d me c

e that he is actually; that would, no doubt, treat him as a burglar if he went to her, got down on his knees, and said: 'Mercy, my girl,

and give you blazes on the promenade deck, and corner her down with a mighty cheek, and levy on her for a thousand pounds? Both you and she would think more of him. Women don't dislike being bullie

your course, and are likely to go on a fresh tack. It isn't my habit to worry a man. I gave you a signal, and you didn't respond at first. Well, we ha

or foul, or the keel scrapes the land or gives to the rock, till the sea gulps one of 'em down for ever. That's the sense of the thing, Marmion, and the contract holds between the two, straight on into the eternal belly. Whatever happens, a husband is a husband, and a wi

minded man ever reefed a sail, took his turn upon the bridge, or walked the dry land in the business of life. It did not surprise me, a year after, when I saw in public prints that he was the hero of-but t

t but kindly clench of my shoulder, he left me. In that moment there came a cowardly feeling, a sense of shamefacedness, and then, hard u

rough my mind, that he might do some violent thing. Not that I had any fear of violence; but I had an active dislike of awkward circumstances. I felt his fluttering pulse, and noted the blue line on his warped lips. I ga

neglect, or wished to take back your words; but-because of something else. . . . I understand it all. She has great power. She always had. She is very beautiful. I remember when-but I will not call it back before you, though, God knows, I go over it all every day and every night, until it seems that only the memory of her is real, and that she herself is a ghost. I ought not to have crossed her path again, even unknown to

over and felt his pulse, then took his hand and pressed it, s

efully, and replied: "I

e than I

wife, his writing to her, and her refusal to see him. He did not rail against her. He apologised for her, and reproached himself. "She is most singular," he co

hing connected with her life, or her father's life, in Samoa. One can only guess, but white men take what are called native wives there very often -and who can tell? Her father-but that is her secret! . . . While I was right before the world, she was a good wife to me in her way. When I went wrong, she treated me as if I were dead, a

that," I said; and then I added: "Why did you not sp

street, an hour before the ship sailed.

be a fancy-dress ball on board. I have been thinking. I could go in a good disguise. I could speak to her, and attract no

"and what do yo

cabin, if you will let me. I cannot dress here, it would

n to-night. I will arrange so that you may transfer yourself to one in the first- class section. . . . No, not a word; it must be as I wish in this. You are ill; I can do you that kindness at least, a

ed she would only reproduce the case of Anson and his wife. I was also afraid of a possible scene-which showed that I was not yet able to judg

erve. I have seen her in positions of great peril and trial. She is not emotional, though I truly think she will wake one day and find her heart all fire but no

ise-your dress

mantle. He said: "I was a seller of such stuffs in Colombo, and these I brought with me, because I could not dispose of them without sacrifice when I left hurriedly. I have made th

s Menelaus the

Greek?" The smile b

ury in self-abasement before him. "Your wife, I know, intends to go as Helen of Troy. It is all mumming. Let it stand so, as Menelaus and Helen a

condemn yourself beyond reason," he replied. "I will do as you say

to bed. After a long wakefulness, I dozed away into that disturbed vestibule of sleep where the world's happenings mingle with the visions of unconsciousness. I seemed to see a man's heart beating in his bosom in growing agonies, until, with one last immense palpitation, it burst, and life was gone. Th

t quiver of the arms, he sank from sight. When he was gone, the woman's arms

aw

"She'll get under way by daybreak, and it will be a race wit