induce me to go."

"Oh, well. Then I don't care anything about it," she said. "We'll stay
where we are, of course. I am as happy and contented as I could be
anywhere."

Stanwood turned upon her with a sudden, fierce irritation.

"This is nonsense!" he cried. "You are not to bury yourself alive out
here! I won't permit it! The sooner you go, _the better for both of
us_!"

His voice was harsh and strained; it was the tone of it more than the
words themselves that cut her to the heart. He did not want her; it had
all been a miserable failure. She controlled herself with a strong
effort. Her voice did not tremble; there was only the pathos of
repression in it as she answered: "Very well, papa; perhaps I have had
my share."

Stanwood thought, and rebelled against the thought, that he had never
seen a finer thing than her manner of replying. For himself, he felt as
if he had come to the dregs of life and should like to fling the cup
away.

They occupied themselves that evening a good deal with the collies, and
they parted early; and then it was that Stanwood was brought face to
face with himself.

For half an hour or more he made a pretence of reading the papers, and
looking at the pictures in a stray magazine, thus keeping himself at
arm's length, as it were. But after a while even that restraint became
unendurable. He went to the back door of the house and opened it. The
collies appeared in a delighted group to rush into the house. He
suffered them to do so, and then, stepping out, he closed the door upon
them and stood outside. There was a strong north wind, and, for a
moment, its breath refreshed him like a dash of cold water. Only for a
moment, however. The sense of oppression returned upon him, and he felt
powerless to shake it off. With the uncertain, wavering step of a
sleep-walker, he moved across to the spot where he had poured his
libation three weeks ago. He stood there, strangely fascinated, glancing
once or twice, furtively over his shoulder. Then, hardly knowing what he
did, he got down on his knees and put his face to the ground. Was it the
taste or the smell that he craved? He could not have told. He only knew
that he knelt there and pressed his face to the earth, and that a
sickening sense of disappointment came over him at finding all trace of
it gone.

He got up from his knees, very shaky and weak, and then it was that he
looked himself in the face and knew what the ignominious craving meant.