On this bright September morning Sir Ronald sat in his library alone, the open letter in his hand, considering within himself whether he should decline without saying one word to his wife, or whether he should consult her as to the advisability of going or not. The thought of leaving her was most unpleasant; nay, it was distasteful to him. She had so completely changed the gloom of his life into brightest sunshine that it seemed to him in leaving her for ever so small a time he must leave all the light behind. And yet the prospect was a pleasant one. He had always liked traveling. His new pursuits were most fascinating to him. The idea of going to Africa and seeing the wonders of which he had been only able to read, write and dream, was full of novelty, pleasure and excitement. Still, there was Hermione and the children--those little children, the love of whom had grown in his heart until his whole nature was changed. Were all the scientific pursuits in the world worth even one moment of absence from them? He could not decide. There were two voices in his heart and each called him different ways. The door opened gently and Lady Hermione entered. He was so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he never heard her. She went up to him. They had no secrets from each other, this husband and wife who loved so deeply and so well. She laid one white arm caressingly round his neck and bent her beautiful head over him. “Whom is your letter from, Ronald?” “Dr. L----,” he replied, mentioning a world-wide known name, to which the whole universe pays homage. Her face brightened with pride and pleasure. “Oh, Ronald, let me read it! What does he say? It is to praise you, I am sure.” As she read he watched the changes in her beautiful face, the pride and pleasure, the surprise, and then the pain. Her sweet lips quivered. “That is enough, Hermione,” he said. “I shall not go.” But she laid the letter down and clasped both arms around his neck. “My darling,” she whispered, “I am so proud of you. How can I thank Heaven for raising you from the depths of that cruel slough of despond and making you useful and famous? I am so happy, love.” She kissed him with tears falling like rain. “I shall not go, Hermione,” he said. “I would not leave you, my wife, to have my name put at the very head of the roll of science.” “We will not decide hastily. You would be away two years, and it seems to me, Ronald, that the change of air and scene, the novelty of travel, the incessant occupation and the constant companionship of such men as Dr. L---- and Sir George Aiken would complete the cure. We will not decide; let us take time to consider.”