l daylight."

"Good-night, Simeon," she said, gently. "I am sorry I displeased you
today."

He mumbled something about young people having to make mistakes, but
his mumble was pleasant, and then he crossed to her side, and kissed
her forehead.

She felt the pucker of his lips like wrinkled leather, but she told
herself it was kind in Simeon to kiss her.

As she laid her head on her pillow, she thought:

"He never had the curiosity to ask what I proposed to do with myself
when my home and husband were taken from me," and the tears came at
last, unchecked.

CHAPTER III.

Simeon was gone--gone with his clothes packed in the sole leather
trunk that his father had used before him, but with an equipment for
botanizing as modern and extended as his personal arrangements were
meager.

The house was rented to Mrs. Barnes, the mother of the too ardent
champion of the football field--but as her son was too suffering to be
moved for several weeks to come, Deena had leisure to get the house in
order and habituate herself to the idea of being homeless.

Simeon behaved liberally in money matters; that is, he arranged that
the rent should be paid to his wife, and he gave her a power of
attorney which was to make her free of his bank account should
anything delay his return beyond her resources. At the same time the
injunctions against spending were so solemn that she understood she
was to regard her control of his money as a mere formality--a
peradventure--made as one makes his will, anticipating the unlikely.

The faculty made no objection to Simeon's going; indeed, his
researches were thought likely to redound to the high scientific
reputation that Harmouth particularly cherished, and Stephen French
had taken care to foster this impression.

The day he left was sharp for October; a wood fire crackled on the
hearth in the dining room, and Deena, pale and calm, sat behind the
breakfast service and made his coffee for the last time in many
months. He ate and drank, and filled in the moments with the Harmouth
_Morning Herald_, and his wife's natural courtesy forbade her
interrupting him. Without a word he stretched his arm across the table
with his cup to have it refilled, and Deena, feeling her
insignificance as compared with the morning news, still dared not
speak. When finally he pushed back his chair, the little carryall was
at the door waiting to take him and his luggage to the train.

"You will write from New Yor