to flash out so; remember I'm only a cripple," responded
Lanse, amiably. He sat there stroking his short beard with his strong,
well-shaped hand, looking at her, as he did so, with some curiosity.

She rose. "Is there anything I can do for you before I go?" And she
began to fold up her work.

"Oh, don't go! that's inhuman; it's only a little after nine--there's
nearly an hour yet before the executioners come. I didn't mean to vex
you, Madge; really I didn't. I know perfectly that you have done what
you did, behaved as you have--so admirably (you must excuse my saying it
again)--to please yourself, not me; you did it because you thought it
right, and you don't want my thanks for it; you don't even want my
admiration, probably you haven't a very high opinion of my admiration. I
don't condole with you--you may have noticed that; the truth is, you
have had your liberty, you have been rid of me, and there has been no
disagreeable gossip about it. If you had loved me, there would have been
the grief and all that to consider. But there has been no grief; you
probably know now, though you didn't then, that you never seriously
cared for me at all; of course you _thought_ you did."

Margaret was standing, her folded work in her hand, ready to leave the
room. "I should--I should have tried," she answered, her eyes turned
away.

"Tried? Of course you would have tried, poor child," responded Lanse,
laughing. "I should have had that spectacle! You were wonderfully good,
you had a great sense of duty; you really married me from duty--because
I told you that I should go to the bad without you, and you believed it,
and thought you must try; and you mistook the interest you felt in me on
that account for affection--a very natural mistake at your age. Never
mind all that now, I only want you to admit that I might have been
worse, I might have been brutal, tyrannical, in petty ways, I might have
been a pig; instead of leaving you as I did, I might have stayed at
home--and made you wish that I _had_ left! Even now I scarcely touch
your personal liberty; true, I ask you to keep house for me, set up a
home and make me comfortable again; but outside of that I leave you very
free, you shall do quite as you please. Luckily we've got money
enough--that is, you have--not to be forced to sacrifice ourselves about
trifles; if you want your breakfast at eight o'clock, and I mine at
eleven, why, we can have it in that way; it won't be necessary for