he corner of the room the great sofa, and
with a sudden movement threw herself on that. She was like a small boy
with a host of toys about him, anxious to play with all at the same
time, and trying to give to each the same undivided attention. The
massive candelabra on the table attracted her, so she turned her
attention to that, fixing one of its candles as she neared it. Finally,
a small water color of her father, which hung on the wall a little to
one side, appealed to her as needing adjustment. She paused to regard
the profile as she straightened it.

The General observed her from the large chair into which he had flung
himself to rest after the journey, following her with his eyes as she
flitted about the great drawing-room. For the moment there was no object
in that space to determine the angle of his vision, save Peggy, no other
objective reality to convey any trace of an image to his imagination but
that of his wife. She was the center, the sum-total of all his thoughts,
the vivid and appreciable good that regulated his emotions, that
controlled his impulses. And the confident assurance that she was
happy, reflected from her very countenance, emphasized by her every
gesture as she hurried here and there about the room in joyous
contemplation of the divers objects that delighted her fancy, reanimated
him with a rapture of ecstasy which he thought for the moment impossible
to corporeal beings. The mere pleasure of beholding her supremely happy
was for him a source of whole-souled bliss, illimitable and ineffable.

"Would you care to dine now?" she asked of him as she approached his
chair and leaned for support on its arms. "I'll ask Cynthia to make
ready."

"Yes, if you will. That last stage of the trip was exhausting."

And so these two with all the world in their possession, in each other's
company, partook of their first meal together in their own dining-room,
in their own private home.

II

"'Thou hast it now,--king, Cawdor, Glamis, all----'" remarked Arnold to
his wife as they made their way from the dining-room into the spacious
hallway that ran through the house.

"Yet it was not foully played," replied Peggy. "The tourney was fair."

"I had thought of losing you."

"Did you but read my heart aright at our first meeting, you might have
consoled yourself otherwise."

"It was the fear of my letter; the apprehension of its producing a
contrary effect that furnished my misgiving. I trembled over t