fferer scarce a pretence of
responsibility. Nancy would play strange pranks, by which, assuredly, he
would be driven to exasperation if they passed under his eyes. He had no
mind to be called father; perhaps even his humanity might fail under
the test to which, as a lover, he had given scarce a casual thought. By
removing himself, and awaiting the issue afar off, he gained time and
opportunity for reflection. Of course his wife could not come to want;
that, after all, was the one clearly comforting thought. Her old servant
would take good care of her, happen what might.

He must taste of liberty again before sinking into the humdrum of
married life. The thought of an ocean voyage, of the new life amid
tropic splendours, excited his imagination all the more because it
blended with the thought of recovered freedom. Marriage had come upon
him with unfair abruptness; for such a change as that, even the ordinary
bachelor demands a season preparative; much more, then, the young man
who revelled in a philosophic sense of detachment, who wrote his motto
'Vixi hodie!' For marriage he was simply unfit; forced together, he and
his wife would soon be mutually detestable. A temporary parting might
mature in the hearts of both that affection of which the seed was
undeniably planted. With passion they had done; the enduring tenderness
of a reasonable love must now unite them, were they to be united at all.
And to give such love a chance of growing in him, Tarrant felt that he
must lose sight of Nancy until her child was born.

Yes, it had begun already, the trial he dreaded. A letter from Nancy,
written and posted only an hour or two after her return home--a long,
distracted letter. Would he forgive her for seeming to be an obstacle
in the way of what he had proposed? Would he promise her to be faithful?
Would he--

He had hardly patience to read it through.

The next evening, on returning home about ten o'clock, he was startled
by the sight of Nancy's figure at the foot of his staircase.

'What has happened?'

'Nothing--don't be frightened. But I wanted to see you tonight.'

She gripped his hand.

'How long have you waited? What! Hours? But this is downright
madness--such a night as this! Couldn't you put a note for me in the
letter-box?'

'Don't--don't speak so! I wanted to see you.' She hurried her words, as
if afraid he would refuse to listen. 'I have told Mary--I wanted you to
know--'

'Come in. But there's no fire,