ants prepare for the morning work. An occasional delivery wagon
ground through the gravel walk, the grating noise of the wheels rasping
his quivering nerves.

Through the open window a stream of sunshine flooded the floor and
distributed itself impartially about the room. The fresh arena of spring
blossoms softened the crisp morning air with a pleasant perfume;
feathered throats chirped happily in pursuit of the early worm.

The swelling chorus of happiness without aroused no responsive quiver in
Collins's heart. It hung within him, a leaden weight coiled with
bitterness and hate. His mind was a blazing furnace of furious
resentment, emitting sparks of rage that kindled other fires in the
storehouse of his emotions, until his temper seemed to reflect the
conflict of all tempers.

The shrill call of a letter-carrier's whistle banished the silent fury
into which he had worked himself. A thrill of expectancy shot down his
frame. Donning his bathrobe and slippers he stepped into the hallway and
listened. The butler and the mail man exchanged a word of greeting, then
the former closed the door. Collins descended the stairs, blinking, with
sleepy dissipated eyes.

"Give me all the mail," he said, extending a tremulous hand.

"There's a letter for madam--"

"Give it to me!"

Reluctantly the butler delivered the letter to him.

"You needn't mention my having received all the mail," Collins growled.
"If madam asks whether there was any mail for her tell her there wasn't
any. And don't forget what I say!"

The butler stared after him as he climbed up the stairs and disappeared
into his own room.

Seated on the edge of his bed, Collins glanced through his personal mail
then tore open the letter to his wife. It was in a familiar handwriting
and the contents brought no look of surprise to his face. But he read it
through half a dozen times, as if to sear it into his memory.

Presently he dressed and went out for a stroll, drinking copious
draughts of the bracing morning air. But the tormenting presence of the
intercepted letter in his pocket drew him back to the house. He
encountered his wife in the hallway.

"There was some mail for me--where is it?" she said, extending a hand
confidently.

He produced the letter from his pocket, poising it tantalizingly between
his fingers. She recognized the handwriting and a wave of red mounted to
her forehead. Also, she observed the ragged slit at the top of the
envelope and th