I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are. She ran 60 past it with melancholic dread towards the slope that led to the ocean. . . "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. The wall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind which each human being hid—the wall behind which she herself was hiding! If only her mother had lived, her darling mother! Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glow began to lighten it. "You have said," pursued the widow, "that she, who has once erred, is irreclaimable. "You'll find her quiet enough to-day, Sir," observed the woman, as they walked along; "but she has been very outrageous latterly. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult.
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