Then one day a beautiful thing happened to Margaret; a soft wind rose that blew away the deadly miasma fastening upon her. It stirred within the closed chambers of her heart, making them sweet and pure again, and softly fanning open others that she had not known were there. And from these unsuspected chambers came soft voices whispering to her of hope that was not dead, they told her, it would spring again--and a sweet tale of joy that was to be--something so untried, so mysterious, that the very thought thrilled her as in all her life she had never been thrilled before. Then as she bent to listen, the soft whisperings swelled to sweetest music, and a heavenly chorus sang: "Blessed--blessed--blessed art thou!" And Margaret, listening with rapt ear, cried out in ecstasy from the great deeps of her lonely heart, "My own ... my very own?" and then upon her knees took up the great antiphonal, "My soul doth magnify the Lord." Ah! the angel of the annunciation had spoken to Margaret and her heart was singing the Magnificat. CHAPTER V "A WHITE LIFE FOR TWO" Months came and went--months in which they each tried intermittently to regain their old footing of love and faith. They could not do it. The wife at least knew that they were drifting apart. She wondered sometimes where it would all end. Victor had told Margaret one morning that he had been called to Philadelphia on business and would not be at home for several days perhaps. A friend called for her that afternoon to drive. She did not go out often now, and, of course, Victor had no thought that she would take this time of all times. She came upon him in Rock Creek Park. He too was driving, and beside him was a woman she had heard lightly spoken of. He did not see her, nor did the friend see him. It was but a moment, but in that brief space she had pressed to her lips the fruit plucked from the Tree of Knowledge. Margaret wondered, as she felt the world swim around her, what it was her friend was saying, and what made it sound so far off, and whether she would know enough to answer her. They had a bitter time over that. He first denied, then attempted to explain, and finally fell back upon her foolish jealousy, forgetting that it is a poor bloodless type of woman that will not be jealous when occasion exists. From that time on she had been steering wildly, her rudder gone. The storm fell on her with as little warning. The winter passed, spring came. It was almost Mayday and her anniversary. Victor had seemed more thoughtful of her of late,--perhaps her weakness appealed even to him. Soon--soon--she told herself, they would be drawn closer together by their common joy and care.