“Such simple things--all in his own way--full of love and happiness--_I am so happy and comfortable_--it is pitiful. He is like a child--he never suspects anything. You are better and enjoying yourself and looking forward to coming home soon. Sending kisses and presents for the baby, too, and greetings for everybody. There are messages for me also. _Your true and loving wife_--it is terrible.” She covered her face with both hands. “And is he telling everybody?” “Yes; that's what the letters are meant for. He thinks he is keeping your name sweet and your place clean, so that you may return at any time, and scandal may not touch you.” “Oh, why do you tell me that, Philip? It is dragging me back. And the child is dragging me back also... Does he show the letters to you?” “Worse than that, Kate--much worse--he makes me answer them. I answered one the other night. Oh, when I think of it! _Dear wife, glad to get your welcome letters_. God knows how I held the pen--I was giddy enough to drop it. He gave you all the news--about your father, and Grannie, and everybody. All in his own bright way--poor old Pete, the cheeriest, sunniest soul alive. _The Dempster is putting a sight on us regular--trusts you are the better for leaving home_. It was awful--awful! _Dearest Kirry, I'm missing you mortal--worse than Kimberley. So come home soon, my true lil wife, to your foolish ould husband, for his heart is losing him._” He leapt up, and began to tramp the floor. “But why do I tell you this? I should bear my own burdens.” Her hands had come down from her face, which was full of a great compassion. “And did _you_ have to write all that?” she asked. “Oh, he meant no harm. He had no thought of hurting anybody! He never dreamt that every word was burning and blistering me to the heart of hearts.” His voice deepened, and his face grew hard and ugly. “But it was the same as if some devil out of hell had entered into the man and told him how to torture me--as if the cruellest tyrant on earth had made me take up the pen and write down my own death-warrant. I could have killed him--I could not help it--yes, I felt at that moment as if---- Oh, what am I saying?” He stopped, sat on the end of the bed again, and held his head between his hands. She came and sat by his side. “Philip,” she said, “I am ruining you. Yes, I am corrupting you. I who would have had you so high and pure--and you so pure-minded--I am bringing you to ruin. Having me here is destroying you, Philip. No one visits you now. You are shutting the door on everybody.... I heard you come in last night, Philip. I hear you every night. Yes, I know everything. Oh, you will end by hating me--I know you will. Why don't you send me away? It will be better to send me away in time, Philip. Besides, it will make no difference. We are in the same house, yet we never meet. Send me away now, before it is too late.”