“I must bid father and mother good-night. Then I will join you both--‘in the court of the king.’” And he turned and went back, and said to his father as he kissed his mother: “I am had at an advantage, General.” “And serves you right, my boy. You had the odds with you, but she has captured them like a born soldier.” His mother said to him gently: “Frank, you blamed us, but remember that we wished only your good. Take my advice, dear, and try to love your wife and win her confidence.” “Love her--try to love her!” he said. “I shall easily do that. But the other--?” He shook his head a little, though what he meant perhaps he did not know quite himself, and then followed Marion and Lali upstairs. Marion had tried to escape from Lali, but was told that she must stay; and the three met at the child’s cot. Marion stooped down and kissed its forehead. Frank stooped also and kissed its cheek. Then the wife kissed the other cheek. The child slept peacefully on. “You can always see the baby here before breakfast, if you choose,” said Lali; and she held out her hand again in good-night. At this point Marion stole away, in spite of Lah’s quick little cry of “Wait, Marion!” and the two were left alone again. “I am very tired,” she said. “I would rather not talk to-night.” The dismissal was evident. He took her hand, held it an instant, and presently said: “I will not detain you, but I would ask you, Lali, to remember that you are my wife. Nothing can alter that.” “Still we are only strangers, as you know,” she quietly rejoined. “You forget the days we were together--after we were married,” he cautiously urged. “I am not the same girl,... you killed her... We have to start again.... I know all.” “You know that in my wretched anger and madness I--” “Oh, please do not speak of it,” she said; “it is so bad even in thought.” “But will you never forgive me, and care for me? We have to live our lives together.” “Pray let us not speak of it now,” she said, in a weary voice; then, breathlessly: “It is of much more consequence that you should love me--and the child.” He drew himself up with a choking sigh, and spread out his arms to her. “Oh, my wife!” he exclaimed. “No, no,” she cried, “this is unreasonable; we know so little of each other.... Good-night, again.” He turned at the door, came back, and, stooping, kissed the child on the lips. Then he said: “You are right. I deserve to suffer.... Good-night.” But when he was gone she dropped on her knees, and kissed the child many times on the lips also. CHAPTER IX. THE FAITH OF COMRADES