It had come--she had seen it coming--she had seen the restlessness in his eyes that told her that the call had come to him out of the distance of dreams--those dreams which had always been his--dreams of a sea that he had never sailed on--a land that his feet had never trodden. The end of their life together at this house which she hoped would be their home, had come before it had well begun. The poor woman lay back on her chair and closed her eyes, thinking her thoughts--asking herself how it was that she, a woman who cared about nothing in the world so much as a home, should be denied one, just when she fancied that the gift for which she had always yearned had been given to her. She knew all that a home meant--that it was not merely a well-appointed dwelling, but a place the tenure of which should be secure to her so long as she lived. Such had been denied to her all her life; for her husband had been a wanderer with no certainty in his wanderings except of their continuance; and now, when she fancied that the desire of her life had been given to her, it was snatched away before she had taken more than a sip of its sweetness. He was preparing to go away from her once more. He could not help it; the travel lust had taken possession of him, and once more she would be left alone. She sat there asking herself if she had failed in her duty toward her son. Had she too easily yielded to him, letting him have his own way in the matter of travel? What had she left undone that might have prepared him for the “settling down” which was bound to come, she thought, when he really had a home to return to? Even now it might not be too late to do something that would make him not merely endure the home that he had inherited, but enjoy it as well. She could think of nothing that had not been in her thoughts long ago; and so the day wore on, but the pain which she had at her heart was not outworn. Oh, who could leave this place that was meant for that repose which is the sweetest part of life--this gracious land of woodland and park and meadow and paddock--the songs of the blackbird and the thrush--the glimpse of the quick swallows athwart the lawn--the melodious murmur of innumerable bees--the scent of the roses: who would choose to leave such a place for the dread uncertainties of other lands? She knew something of Jack’s travels; they had not been under the control of a personal conductor. He had slept with a rifle by his side and a revolver under his pillow, and when he was not suffering from a plague of mosquitoes he was having his toes cut open to expel the enterprising “jigger” that had made a burrow for itself and its progeny beneath his flesh.