"But Margaret, that was before I knew of Philip's new danger. Since that last crushing blow has fallen upon you the feeling is so much more infinitely tender. I think a hundred times a day 'If I could take her and her helpless child to my heart and hold them there forever,--if I could bear for her the load that I have forced upon her, or help her bear it; if I could go with her upon this pitiful quest; could stand beside her and let her lean upon my strength; could comfort her--'" She put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand. Two big tears rose and struggled under her closed lids. She needed comforting! "'--and if the worst comes--as it may--could have her lay her head upon my breast and weep her grief out there--'" The drops pushed through. What woman, oh, what woman, in her time of sorrow has not felt need of such a refuge? "Margaret! if I could thus atone, I feel that I should ask no more of earth. But--that I have with my own hand barred myself forever from your life--_this is my punishment_." * * * * * When he spoke again it was in his even, controlled voice, taking up the subject they had talked of earlier under the wistaria, and telling her of the arrangements he had made. The doctor had suggested the sea voyage for Philip and had also urged his being put under the care of a specialist at once. He had taken the liberty of engaging passage for them on the _Etruria_, the steamer on which the doctor sailed. But this was conditional, of course. He waited a moment, but she did not speak, and he went on rather hurriedly to explain that he had done this because he knew the staterooms might all be taken if he waited to communicate with her. It was only by their having been surrendered that he had been able to get these. He hoped he had not offended her by his action in the matter. They could be given up at any moment by telegram. She shook her head, not taking down her sheltering hand. She had heard this last as one hears in a dream,--thinking dully that this was the end. During her contest with him she had been nerved to fight; now that it was over she felt strengthless--nerves in collapse. When he had spoken of her "pitiful quest" she seemed to see a dreary stretch of road before her that had no end. She and Philip were on it, toiling along, going she knew not where, stumbling, falling sometimes but getting up and struggling on--and Richard behind them stretching out his hands! If--if--oh, that would be a shameful thing! ... the man that had stolen her child! ... a monstrous thing! Then something rose up within her and contended fiercely, "But it is _your_ life!" What? ... give up now? ... make complete surrender, and in such a way?... Oh, no. She would be stronger when he was gone. The shock of it had unnerved her. That was all.