the boys
out of her sight, refusing to send them to school, or to let them play
with other children. By and by word was brought that her husband had
been killed in a quarrel over cards, and little Mrs. Opp, having nothing
now to watch for and to wait for, suddenly became strangely changed.

Old Aunt Tish, the negro servant, was the only person who ever crossed
the threshold, and she told of a strange life that went on behind the
closely curtained windows, where the sunlight was never allowed to
enter, and lamps burned all day long.

"Yas, 'm," she used to say in answer to curious questionings; "hit's jes
like play-actin' all de time. The Missis dress herself up, an' 'tend
like she's a queen or a duke or somethin', an' dat little D. he jes
acts out all dem fool things she tells him to, an' he ain't never bein'
hisself at all, but jes somebody big and mighty and grand-like."

When the boys were half-grown, a stranger appeared in the Cove, a dapper
little man of about fifty in a shabby frock-coat and a shabbier high
hat, kind of face and gentle of voice, but with the dignity of conscious
superiority. The day of his arrival he called upon Mrs. Opp; the second
day he took a preacher with him and married her. Whatever old romance
had led to this climax could only be dimly guessed at by the curious
townspeople.

For two years Mr. Moore fought for the mind of his old sweetheart as he
had long ago fought for her heart. He opened the house to the sunshine,
and coaxed the little lady back into the world she had forgotten. The
boys were sent to school, the old games and fancies were forbidden.
Gradually the color returned to her cheeks, and the light to her eyes.

Then little Kippy was born, and happiness such as seldom comes to one
who has tasted the dregs of life came to the frail little woman in the
big four-poster bed. For ten days she held the baby fingers to her
heart, and watched the little blossom of a maid unfold.

But one black night, when the rain beat against the panes, and the moan
of the river sounded in her ears, she suddenly sat up in bed: she had
heard the whistle of _his_ boat! Full of dumb terror she crept to the
window, and with her face pressed against the glass she waited and
watched. The present was swallowed up in the past. She was once more
alone, unloved, afraid. Stealthily snatching a cloak, she crept down
into the garden, feeling her way through the sodden grass, and the
jimpson weed which the rai