"Pack my valise for a two weeks' stay." The poor wife trembled through all her being. It was the order for her own departure. The packing of his valise would be the last act of the sorrowful drama of her marriage. It was the last time she would ever do him the service. _The last time!_ Every garment had a tragic look. She touched them tenderly. Her unchecked tears dropped upon them. If it was not for David's sake, she doubted whether she could carry out her intentions--but her child, her child! They wanted even now to separate them in their home, in a few weeks they might take him entirely away from her. His old enemy Croup would find him alone in the dark and some dreadful night strangle him. He would be punished for faults he did not even understand, flogged, deprived of food and companionship, tormented by cruel boys older than himself--oh, she could not bear to continue her reflections, for the boy's sake she must leave his father. And then a kind of anger at the father followed in the steps of her grief. If she could have trusted his father to defend him in all cases, it need not have been; but she could see, even in the dispute concerning his sleeping-place, his father was inclined to stand by the cruel wish of the grandmother. Oh, but the packing of that valise was a hard task! And when it was strapped and locked, it seemed almost to reproach her. She was sitting gazing at it, when Robert entered the room and caught the look of love and despair which filled her eyes, and saddened her face and her attitude. In spite of himself it flattered him. He was astonished at her devotion, but it comforted him. His mother had been angry when she heard of Sykes and Company's failure. She had reminded him of her advice to have nothing to do with them--had told him "Sykes looked shifty and rascally, and her words had come true, and perhaps he would believe her next time she gave him good advice." But Theodora had been full of sympathy, and had given him only kind and encouraging words. His manner was so unusually gentle, that she ventured to say: "I am afraid to be left here without you, Robert. They will take David from me, or I shall have a fight to keep him. It hurts me so, dear, what am I to do? Will you tell mother to let David's sleeping-place alone until you come back?" He was silent for a moment, then he answered: "Take David and go and see your own father and mother. You could stay ten or twelve days. When I am ready to come home, I will telegraph you to meet me at Crewe Station, then we can make the journey back together." "Oh, Robert, Robert! Oh, you dear Robert! What a joy that will be to David and myself! How shall I thank you?" "Never mind the thanks. Now I must go. I have not a minute to spare." "Davie is in the next room."