She had her memories, too. Her woman’s life was woven with the little intimacies of the seven married years. Their life together, their passion and joy,--it blazed before her in the stillness. She had thought it was to go on like that always, for many years, fading perchance when they were old into something gentler, less abundant. Now, suddenly, in the space of a few days, she was brought to see that such joy had a term set within her own experience. It was past! “We have loved so much,” she murmured. “We have been so happy. That is over now.” He nodded, bringing her hands to his lips. He knew what she meant. The old joy, the careless pleasure of their early selves, had gone under the shadow. Something out of them had been created in those hours of freedom, which was now asserting its control over them,--something from the past, unknown to them, gathered up and expressed through them. _They_ were now to be less, and this which had come out of them was to be more. Sorrow or satisfaction, it was all one,--it was to be met and borne with. Youth had passed; selfish joy had been blown away--there remained their child. “Little Oscar,” the mother murmured. “We must do what we can for him, mustn’t we?” “All that can be done!” he exclaimed. “Live with him, take him away from here, fight for him,” she whispered. “As long as he lives. As long as we live!” Her tears fell upon his hands. “Yes! that is it. We must fight together for the child as long as we live!” And they both divined something of how the years must be, living not for themselves but largely for their child, changing their life as his needs changed, preparing to struggle with him against the odds of his fate. “Where is he?” he asked. They found him playing by himself under a great tree. When he saw them coming across the lawn, he stood very still and watched their faces, looking at them keenly. His mother took his hand and leaned over to kiss him. He put his other hand up to his father. Thus they walked slowly back toward the house, the child gravely marching between his parents, holding them to him, one on either hand. _The Macmillan Little Novels_ BY FAVOURITE AUTHORS Handsomely Bound in Decorated Cloth 16mo 50 cents each _Philosophy Four_ A STORY OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY. By OWEN WISTER, author of “The Virginian,” etc. _Man Overboard_ By F. MARION CRAWFORD, author of “Cecilia,” “Marietta,” etc. _Mr. Keegan’s Elopement_ By WINSTON CHURCHILL, author of “The Crisis,” “Richard Carvel,” etc. _Mrs. Pendleton’s Four-in-Hand_ By GERTRUDE ATHERTON, author of “The Conqueror,” “The Splendid Idle Forties,” etc. _The Saint of the Dragon’s Dale_ By WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS, author of “A Friend of Cæsar,” “God Wills It,” etc. _The Golden Chain_ By GWENDOLEN OVERTON, author of “The Heritage of Unrest,” “Anne Carmel,” etc. _Their Child_ By ROBERT HERRICK, author of “The Web of Life,” “The Real World,” etc.