m on the raw of his wound of Miriam.
He pushed the tumbled hair off his forehead, his eyes full of pain and
fire.

"You mean easy, mother," he cried. "That's a woman's whole doctrine for
life--ease of soul and physical comfort. And I do despise it."

"Oh, do you!" replied his mother. "And do you call yours a divine
discontent?"

"Yes. I don't care about its divinity. But damn your happiness! So long
as life's full, it doesn't matter whether it's happy or not. I'm afraid
your happiness would bore me."

"You never give it a chance," she said. Then suddenly all her passion
of grief over him broke out. "But it does matter!" she cried. "And you
OUGHT to be happy, you ought to try to be happy, to live to be happy.
How could I bear to think your life wouldn't be a happy one!"

"Your own's been bad enough, mater, but it hasn't left you so much worse
off than the folk who've been happier. I reckon you've done well. And I
am the same. Aren't I well enough off?"

"You're not, my son. Battle--battle--and suffer. It's about all you do,
as far as I can see."

"But why not, my dear? I tell you it's the best--"

"It isn't. And one OUGHT to be happy, one OUGHT."

By this time Mrs. Morel was trembling violently. Struggles of this kind
often took place between her and her son, when she seemed to fight for
his very life against his own will to die. He took her in his arms. She
was ill and pitiful.

"Never mind, Little," he murmured. "So long as you don't feel life's
paltry and a miserable business, the rest doesn't matter, happiness or
unhappiness."

She pressed him to her.

"But I want you to be happy," she said pathetically.

"Eh, my dear--say rather you want me to live."

Mrs. Morel felt as if her heart would break for him. At this rate she
knew he would not live. He had that poignant carelessness about himself,
his own suffering, his own life, which is a form of slow suicide. It
almost broke her heart. With all the passion of her strong nature she
hated Miriam for having in this subtle way undermined his joy. It did
not matter to her that Miriam could not help it. Miriam did it, and she
hated her.

She wished so much he would fall in love with a girl equal to be his
mate--educated and strong. But he would not look at anybody above him
in station. He seemed to like Mrs. Dawes. At any rate that feeling was
wholesome. His mother prayed and prayed for him, that he might not be
wasted. That was all her prayer--not for hi