"See how brave I have become in your absence," she said. "Well, I guess you've driven horses as long as I have," John Hunter replied happily, and kissed the astonished wife and the child in her arms with such real pleasure in returning to them that it was good to meet him after all. "If he'd always be like that," Elizabeth thought wistfully, and Hugh Noland felt more like a criminal in the presence of that kiss than he had ever done in his life. "Here, I'll tie Patsie up after I give her a drink. You go in with Elizabeth and I'll follow as soon as its done," John said to Hugh, and turning to Elizabeth said, "You haven't taken very good care of him since I've been away, dear. Go on in and get a book and I'll listen for an hour before I go to the pasture." "I'll do no such thing. I'll go to that pasture with you--that's what I'll do. I'm not sick. Rats! Elizabeth knows I----" Hugh Noland stopped short, "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hunter," he added confusedly. "I don't know why you shouldn't call me by my first name; I do you," Elizabeth answered, glad in spite of herself. Hugh went away with John, and Elizabeth had a long time to think about it. It was the first time Hugh had ever dropped into the least familiarity in addressing her, and no amount of reasoning could keep her from feeling a thrill of pleasure over it. She did not approve of herself, but the thrill was there. She hated herself, but the thrill remained. She wondered bitterly if she would ever be able to approve of herself again; every turn of life's wheel brought out some new and hitherto unsuspected characteristic, and try as she would she could not make herself do as her code of morals demanded that she should. She thought of her various friends; none of them had ever been guilty of the things Elizabeth found herself culpable of. Sadie had rebelled against her first child, but when shown the consequences had cheerfully applied the lesson, while she, Elizabeth, had been unable to put into practice later the very precepts she had so glibly given her neighbour. None of her friends had ever committed the folly of falling in love with men who were not their husbands. Elizabeth would not stay for the reading that night, and had a bad hour before she fell asleep. Her love for Hugh looked even worse to her since John's arrival than it had done before. This new phase of her life was even less able to command respect than any which had preceded it. Why was she vexed with such unheard of temptations? It did not comfort her to reason it out that this thing had fallen upon her without any wish of hers, that the thrill which had followed his use of her name was not a thing she had deliberately fostered within herself; she demanded of herself that she should not thrill at his voice, not knowing that she demanded the impossible.