ou, and
of course the word of such a reprobate as you consider me can scarcely
be of any avail."

"But you could not break this promise?" says she in a low voice, and
with a long, long sigh.

"What trust you place in me!" said he, with an open sneer--"Well, so be
it. I give you home and child. You give me----Not worth while going into
the magnificence of your gifts, is it?"

"I gave you once a whole heart--an unbroken faith," says she.

"And took them back again! Child's play!" says he. "Child's promises.
Well, if you will have it so, you have got a promise from me now, and I
think you might say 'thank you' for it as the children do."

"I do thank you!" says she vehemently. "Does not my whole manner speak
for me?" Once again her eyes filled with tears.

"So much love for the child," cries he in a stinging tone, "and not one
thought for the father. Truly your professions of love were light as
thistledown. There! you are not worth a thought yourself. Expend any
affection you have upon your son, and forget me as soon as ever you can.
It will not take you long, once I am out of your sight!"

He strides towards the door, and then looks back at her.

"You understand about my going?" he says; "that it is decided, I mean?"

"As you will," says she, her glance on the ground. There is such a total
lack of emotion in her whole air that it might suggest itself to an
acute student of human nature that she is doing her very utmost to
suppress even the smallest sign of it. But, alas! Baltimore is not that
student.

"Be just:" says he sternly. "It is as you will--not as I. It is you who
are driving me into exile."

He has turned his back, and has his hand on the handle of the door in
the act of opening it. At this instant she makes a move toward him,
holding out her hands, but as suddenly suppresses herself. When he turns
again to say a last word she is standing where he last saw her, pale and
impassive as a statue.

"There will be some matters to arrange," says he, "before my going. I
have telegraphed to Hansard" (his lawyer), "he will be down in the
morning. There will be a few papers for you to sign to-morrow----"

"Papers?"

"My will and your maintenance whilst I am away; and matters that will
concern the child's future."

"His future. That means----"

"That in all probability when I have started I shall never see his face
again--or yours."

He opens the door abruptly, and is gone.

CHAPTER LI.