nd wife, that have never been a day from each
other all these years?"

"Mrs. Falcon, I would not do it for all the diamonds in Brazil. No, Mr.
Falcon, I need hardly say how charmed I should be to have your company:
but that is a pleasure I shall certainly deny myself, after what your
good wife has said. I owe her too much to cause her a single pang."

"Doctor," said the charming Reginald, "you are a gentleman and side with
the lady. Quite right. It adds to my esteem, if possible. Make your
mind easy; I will go alone. I am not a farmer. I am dead sick of this
monotonous life; and, since I am compelled to speak my mind, a little
ashamed, as a gentleman, of living on my wife and her brother, and doing
nothing for myself. So I shall go to the Vaal river, and see a little
life; here there's nothing but vegetation--and not much of that. Not
a word more, Phoebe, if you please. I am a good, easy, affectionate
husband, but I am a man, and not a child to be tied to a woman's
apron-strings, however much I may love and respect her."

Dick put in his word: "Since you are so independent, you can WALK to the
Vaal river. I can't spare a couple of horses."

This hit the sybarite hard, and he cast a bitter glance of hatred at his
brother-in-law, and fell into a moody silence.

But when he got Phoebe to himself, he descanted on her selfishness,
Dick's rudeness, and his own wounded dignity, till he made her quite
anxious he should have his own way. She came to Staines, with red eyes,
and said, "Tell me, doctor, will there be any women up there--to take
care of you?"

"Not a petticoat in the place, I believe. It is a very rough life; and
how Falcon could think of leaving you and sweet little Tommy, and this
life of health, and peace, and comfort--"

"Yet YOU do leave us, sir."

"I am the most unfortunate man upon the earth; Falcon is one of the
happiest. Would I leave wife and child to go there? Ah me! I am dead to
those I love. This is my one chance of seeing my darling again for many
a long year perhaps. Oh, I must not speak of HER--it unmans me. My good,
kind friend, I'll tell you what to do. When we are all at supper, let
a horse be saddled and left in the yard for me. I'll bid you all
good-night, and I'll put fifty miles between us before morning. Even
then HE need not be told I am gone; he will not follow me."

"You are very good, sir," said Phoebe; "but no. Too much has been
said. I can't have him humbled by my brother, nor