ke vices on his brother's shoulders.

"Charlie, you're mad, mad as the devil. Let go of her this minute."

The girl staggered backwards as the iron fingers loosed her wrists.
"Oh! Joe," she cried, "I am not his wife, and he says I am
born--nameless."

"Here," said Joe, shoving his brother towards the door. "Go
downstairs till you can collect your senses. If ever a being acted
like an infernal fool, you're the man."

The young husband looked from one to the other, dazed by his wife's
insult, abandoned to a fit of ridiculously childish temper. Blind
as he was with passion, he remembered long afterwards seeing
them standing there, his brother's face darkened with a scowl
of anger--his wife, clad in the mockery of her ball dress, her
scarlet velvet cloak half covering her bare brown neck and arms,
her eyes like flames of fire, her face like a piece of sculptured
graystone.

Without a word he flung himself furiously from the room, and
immediately afterwards they heard the heavy hall door bang behind
him.

"Can I do anything for you, Christie?" asked her brother-in-law
calmly.

"No, thank you--unless--I think I would like a drink of water,
please."

He brought her up a goblet filled with wine; her hand did not even
tremble as she took it. As for Joe, a demon arose in his soul as he
noticed she kept her wrists covered.

"Do you think he will come back?" she said.

"Oh, yes, of course; he'll be all right in the morning. Now go to
bed like a good little girl, and--and, I say, Christie, you can call
me if you want anything; I'll be right here, you know."

"Thank you, Joe; you are kind--and good."

He returned then to his apartment. His pipe was out, but he picked
up a newspaper instead, threw himself into an armchair, and in a
half-hour was in the land of dreams.

When Charlie came home in the morning, after a six-mile walk into
the country and back again, his foolish anger was dead and buried.
Logan's "Poor old Charlie" did not ring so distinctly in his ears.
Mrs. Stuart's horrified expression had faded considerably from his
recollection. He thought only of that surprisingly tall, dark girl,
whose eyes looked like coals, whose voice pierced him like a
flint-tipped arrow. Ah, well, they would never quarrel again like
that, he told himself. She loved him so, and would forgive him after
he had talked quietly to her, and told her what an ass he was. She
was simple-minded and awfully ignorant to pitch those old Ind