'Perhaps so,' a little sullenly; 'maybe she cares for her son, though she turned against her husband; her heart was always like flint stone to me. I was afraid of her, Captain Burnett, and she knew it; and that gave her a handle over me. A man ought not to fear his own wife--it is against nature; but, there, when she looked at me in her cold, contemptuous way, and dared me to dictate to her, I felt all my courage ooze out of me. I could have struck her when she looked at me like that; and I think she wanted me to, just to make out a case against me: but, fool that I was, I was too fond of her and the children to do it. I bore it all, and perilled my good name for her sake; and this is how she has treated me--spurned me away from her as though I were a dog!' 'She has not been a good wife to you; but, all the same, I do not understand why you took her at her word. Did you never in all these years make an effort to be reconciled with her for the sake of your children?' 'You do not know Olive when you put such a question. There will be no reconciliation possible in this world. I may compel her to own herself my wife, but I could not force her to say a kind word to me. She talked me over into setting her free, and made me promise not to hunt her out. She got over me. Olive is a rare talker; she told me it would be better for the little chaps not to bear their father's name--she would take them away and bring them up to be good, honest men, and she would take care no shame should ever touch them; and would you believe it, sir, I was so cowed and broken with the thought of all those years I was to spend in prison, that for the time I agreed with her. It was just as though I had made her a promise to commit suicide. I was to let her and the children go, and not to put in my claims when they set me free; and as she talked and I answered her, it seemed to me as though Mat O'Brien were already dead.' CHAPTER XXXVI 'HOW CAN I BEAR IT?' 'Through that gloom he will see but a shadow appearing, Perceive but a voice as I come to his side; But deeper their voice grows, and nobler their bearing, Whose youth in the fires of anguish hath died.' MATTHEW ARNOLD. Michael was trying to frame a suitable reply to this speech, that was at once so tragic and hopeless, when Mat suddenly turned to him and said, in a strangely altered voice: 'I want you to tell me one thing, sir. Why does she call herself Blake?' 'I am afraid I cannot enlighten you on that point,' returned Michael, after a moment's consideration; 'probably it was the first name that occurred to her. You will allow that it is short and handy, and that it is by no means conspicuous.' But this answer did not seem to satisfy Matthew O'Brien. An uneasy, almost suspicious look came into his eyes.