m turned
and began to speak, but Billy interrupted. She met her husband's gaze
steadily.

"I will be down at once to get your dinner," she said quietly. "Eliza
will not come to-night. Pete is dead."

Bertram started forward with a quick cry.

"Dead! Oh, Billy! Then you were--_there!_ Billy!"

But his wife did not apparently hear him. She passed him without turning
her head, and went on up the stairs, leaving him to meet the sorrowful,
accusing eyes of William.

CHAPTER XV. AFTER THE STORM

The young husband's apologies were profuse and abject. Bertram was
heartily ashamed of himself, and was man enough to acknowledge it.
Almost on his knees he begged Billy to forgive him; and in a frenzy
of self-denunciation he followed her down into the kitchen that night,
piteously beseeching her to speak to him, to just _look_ at him, even,
so that he might know he was not utterly despised--though he did,
indeed, deserve to be more than despised, he moaned.

At first Billy did not speak, or even vouchsafe a glance in his
direction. Very quietly she went about her preparations for a simple
meal, paying apparently no more attention to Bertram than as if he were
not there. But that her ears were only seemingly, and not really deaf,
was shown very clearly a little later, when, at a particularly abject
wail on the part of the babbling shadow at her heels, Billy choked into
a little gasp, half laughter, half sob. It was all over then. Bertram
had her in his arms in a twinkling, while to the floor clattered and
rolled a knife and a half-peeled baked potato.

Naturally, after that, there could be no more dignified silences on the
part of the injured wife. There were, instead, half-smiles, tears, sobs,
a tremulous telling of Pete's going and his messages, followed by a
tearful listening to Bertram's story of the torture he had endured at
the hands of Miss Winthrop, Bessie Bailey, and an empty, dinnerless
house. And thus, in one corner of the kitchen, some time later, a
hungry, desperate William found them, the half-peeled, cold baked potato
still at their feet.

Torn between his craving for food and his desire not to interfere with
any possible peace-making, William was obviously hesitating what to do,
when Billy glanced up and saw him. She saw, too, at the same time, the
empty, blazing gas-stove burner, and the pile of half-prepared potatoes,
to warm which the burner had long since been lighted. With a little cry
she brok