an
hour at the piano, and then he took her on his knees.

And sometimes in the morning as he walked, with Ellen at his side, to
catch the train, he wondered at his good fortune--the road was so
pleasant, so wide and smooth and shaded, in fact just as he imagined
the road should be, and Ellen was the very pleasantest companion a man
could wish for. He looked on her, on his child and his house at the
foot of the Dublin mountains, as a little work of art which he had
planned out and the perfection of which entitled him to some credit. He
compared himself to one who visits a larder, who has a little snack of
something, and then puts down the cover, saying, "Now that's all right,
that's safe for another week."

Nevertheless he could see a little shadow gathering. His speeches were
growing more explicit, and sooner or later his wife would begin to
notice that he was attacking the clergy. Had she no suspicion? She was
by nature so self-restrained that it was impossible to tell. He knew
she read his speeches, and if she read them she must have noticed their
anti-clerical tone.

Last Saturday he had spoken to her about politics, but she had allowed
the conversation to drop, and that had puzzled him. He was not well
reported. The most important parts of his speech were omitted and for
these omissions he looked upon the reporters and the editors as his
best friends. He had managed to steer his way very adroitly up to the
present, but the day of reckoning could not much longer be postponed;
and one day coming home from a great meeting he remembered that he had
said more than he intended to say, though he had intended to say a good
deal. This time the reporter could not save him, and when his wife
would read the newspaper to-morrow an explanation could hardly be
avoided.

He had thrown a book on the seat opposite, and he put it into his bag.
Its Nihilism had frightened him at first, but he had returned to the
book again and again and every time the attraction had become stronger.
The train passed the signal box, and Ned was thinking of the
aphorisms--the new Gospel was written in aphorisms varying from three
to twenty lines in length--and he thought of these as meat lozenges
each containing enough nutriment to make a gallon of weak soup suitable
for invalids, and of himself as a sort of illicit dispensary.

Ellen was not on the platform; something had delayed her, and he could
see the road winding under trees, and presently he