walked drearily up the bank through the woods. Under the shade of the pines
the white stars of the hepatica glistened and the pale anemones were coming
into bloom. Partridge-berries glowed red under their glossy leaves, and clumps
of violets sweetened the air. Squirrels chattered, woodpeckers tapped,
thrushes sang; but Stephen was blind and deaf to all the sweet harbingers of
spring.

Just then he heard voices, realizing with a throb of delight that, at any
rate, Rose had not left home to meet Claude, as he had asked her to do.
Looking through the branches, he saw the two standing together, Mrs. Brooks's
horse, with the offensive trunk in the back of the wagon, being hitched to a
tree near by. There was nothing in the tableau to stir Stephen to fury, but he
read between the lines and suffered as he read--suffered and determined to
sacrifice himself if he must, so that Rose could have what she wanted, this
miserable apology for a man. He had never been the husband for Rose; she must
take her place in a larger community, worthy of her beauty and charm.

Claude was talking and gesticulating ardently. Rose's head was bent and the
tears were rolling down her cheeks. Suddenly Claude raised his hat, and with a
passionate gesture of renunciation walked swiftly to the wagon, and looking
back once, drove off with the utmost speed of which the Brooks's horse was
capable,--Rose waving him a farewell with one hand and wiping her eyes with
the other.




X

The Turquoise Ring