you. I should have spoken long
ago, but I knew not whether you--you--forgive me, Hatton, but there are
such men. If I have slandered you in my thought, if I have done you this
great wrong----"

"Oh Doctor, the hope and despair of my married life has been--the
longing for my sons and daughters."

"Poor lad! And thee so good and kind to every little one, that comes in
thy way. It is too bad, it is that. By heaven, I am thankful to be an
old bachelor! Thou must try and understand, John, that women are never
the same, and yet that in some great matters, what creation saw them,
they are today. Their endless variety and their eternal similarity are
what charm men. In the days of the patriarchs there were women who would
not have children, and there were women also who longed and prayed for
them, even as Hannah did. It is just that way today. Their reasons then
and their reasons now may be different but both are equally powerful."

"I never heard tell of such women! Never!"

"They were not likely to come thy road. Thou wert long in taking a wife,
and when thou did so it was unfortunate thou took one bred up in the way
she should _not_ go. I know women who are slowly killing themselves by
inducing unnatural diseases through the denial and crucifixion of
Nature. Thy own wife is one of them. That she hes not managed the
business is solely because she has a superabundance of vitality and a
perfect constitution. Physically, Nature intended her for a perfect
mother, but--but she cannot go on as she is doing. I have told her
so--as plainly as I knew how. Now I tell thee. Such ways cannot go on."

"They will be stopped--at once--this day--this hour."

"Nay, nay. She is still very weak and nervous."

"She wants to go to London."

"Let her go."

"But I must speak to her before she goes."

"In a few days."

"Sewell, I thank you. I know now what I have to meet. It is the grief
_not sure_ that slays hope in a man."

"To be sure. Does Mrs. Stephen Hatton know of your wife's practices?"

"No. I will stake my honor on that. She may suspect her, but if she was
certain she would have spoken to me."

"Then it is her own mother, and most likely to be so."

It was noon before John reached Hatton mill. He had received a shock
which left him far below his usual condition, and yet feeling so cruelly
hurt and injured that it was difficult to obey the physician's request
to keep his trouble to himself for a few days.

CHAPTER