mind was gone--she
was like a child. She had toys, like a child. She wept, she cried
out like a child. Very often I was obliged to play--Ah! my God!
My God!"

"This was one of your family. It was that which we heard--which we
_felt_--about the place--?" Her voice was very clear, though low.

"My wife! Now you know." He dropped back, his face once more
between his hands, and again she fell into silence.

"How long--was this?" at length she asked quietly.

He turned a scorched and half-blinded face toward her. "Ever since
I was a boy, you might say," said he. "Even before my father and
mother died. We kept our own counsel. We ran away, we two
children. They counseled me against it. My people didn't like the
match, but I wouldn't listen. It came like some sort of judgment.
Not long after we were married it came--the dreadful accident, with
a run-away team--and we saw,--we knew--in a little while--that she
simply lived like a child--a plant--That was ten years ago, ten
centuries!--ten thousand years of torture. But I kept her. I
shielded her the best I knew how. That was her place yonder, where
the bars were--you see. Nobody knew any more. It's all alone,
back in here. Some said there was a funeral, out here. Jamieson
didn't deny it, I did not deny it. But she lived--there! Sally
took care of her. Sometimes she or the others were careless. You
heard once or twice. Well, anyway, I couldn't tell you. It didn't
seem right--to her. And you were big enough not to ask. I thank
you! Now you know."

Still she was silent. They dropped down, now weary, side by side,
on the grass.

"Now you see into one bit of a human heart, don't you?" said he
bitterly. The gray dawn showed his distorted and wounded face,
scarred, blackened, burned, as at length he tried to look at her.

"I did the best I knew. I knew it wasn't right to feel as I did
toward you--to talk as I did--but I couldn't help it, I tell you, I
just couldn't help it! I can't help it now. But I don't think
it's wrong now, even--here. I was starved. When I saw you,--well,
you know the rest. I have got nothing to say. It would be no use
for me to explain. I make no excuses for myself. I have got to
take my medicine. Anyhow, part of it--part of it is wiped out."

"It is wiped out," she repeated simply. "The walls that stood
there--all of them--are gone. It is the act of fate, of God! I
had not known how awful a thing is life.