But what about herself? What could she do in order to free herself from the companionship of this man who prized her less than he did his dissolute companions? Divorce! Yes, that was the way to break the chain which bound her to the husband she despised. But it was impossible that she could take advantage of the law, for it would reflect on the child in the future, and for the child's sake she would have to remain in the bondage of marriage. Tearless, cold, and pale as a lily, she sat there with her hands clasping the hateful letter which told her of her husband's treachery and destroyed the happiness of her life. The child, weary of its toys, crawled across the carpet to her feet, and clutching her dress raised itself to its feet with a plaintive cry. She looked downward in dry-eyed misery, saw the wax-like tiny hands clasping her dress, and heard the thin little voice utter its inarticulate prayer to lie on her breast. The full horror of her position broke on her dulled brain like a flash of light, and with a burst of tears she took up the child and strained him convulsively to her bosom. Ah, how those tears fell--hot, scalding tears that blistered her cheeks, that burned into her very soul, and that fell on the frightened face of the baby like rain, bitter and salt as the waves of the sea. The child was afraid at this passionate outburst of sorrow and began to cry, but she held him close to her breast and, restraining her tears, hushed him to slumber with a low lullaby rocking to and fro, her heart heavy as lead. "Alizon!" With a cry she arose to her feet, the sleeping child in her arms, and saw her husband, travel-stained, worn, and haggard, standing at the door with a look of imploring agony on his face. She drew herself up to her full height and shrank against the wall, with one arm stretched out to keep him off, the other holding the tiny form of the child, and at her feet the crumpled letter that had been the cause of all this undoing. Guy made a step forward and stretched out his arms. "Alizon!" "Don't--don't come near me!" she said in a low, hoarse voice, with a look of horror on her pale face. "I come to explain----" "Nothing can explain that," she answered, pointing to the letter on the floor, "nothing can explain that." "I can explain it, if you will only listen," he said vehemently. The marks of tears were still on her cheeks, but no other traces of emotion remained to show how she had suffered. As her husband spoke, a cold, scornful smile crept over her face, and she signed to him to go on, still shrinking against the wall with her arms folded round the child as if she would keep it from being contaminated by its father. "I saw Aunt Jelly," said Sir Guy hurriedly, "and she told me what she had done. Written to you about--about Mrs. Veilsturm." He brought out the hated name with a great effort, but his wife, neither shrinking nor wincing, stared straight at him with that terrible frozen smile on her face.