nfined and stifling, sordid and shameful; the end one which
would make his name a marvel and an astonishment. But the prospect and
the end were hers too; they would face them together. Haply he might
spare her some one pang, haply he might give her some one moment of
happiness, the support of one at least who knew her pure and spotless.
And while he thought of it--surprise of surprises--he bowed his head on
his folded arms and wept.

Not in pity for himself, but for her. It was the thought of her
gentleness, her loving nature, her harmlessness--and the end this, the
reward this--which overcame him; which swelled his breast until only
tears could relieve it. He saw her as a dove struggling in cruel hands;
and the pity which, had there been chance or hope, or any to smite,
would have been rage, could find no other outlet. He wept like a woman;
but it was for her.

And she, who had descended unheard, and stood even now at the door, with
a something almost divine in her face--a something that was neither love
nor compassion, maid's fancy nor mother's care, but a mingling of all
these, saw. And her heart bled for him; her arms in fancy went round
him, in fancy his head was on her breast, she comforted him. She, who a
moment before had almost sunk down on the stairs, worn out by her
sufferings and the strain of hiding them from her mother's eyes, forgot
her weakness in thought for him.

She had no contempt for his tears. She had seen him stand between
herself and her tormentors, she had seen the flash of his eye, heard his
voice, knew him brave. But the fate, for which long thought and hours on
her knees had prepared her--so that it seemed but a black and bitter
passage with peace beyond--appalled her for him; and might well appal
him. The courage of men is active, of women passive; with a woman's
instinct she knew this, allowed for it, and allowed, too, for another
thing--that he was fasting.

When he looked up, startled by the tinkle of pewter and the rustle of
her skirt, she was kneeling between the settle and the fire, preparing
food. He flattered himself that in the dark she had not seen him, and
when he had regained his self-control he stepped to the settle-back and
looked over it.

"You did not see me?" he said.

She did not answer at once, but finished what she was doing. Then she
stood up and handed him a bowl. "The bread is on the table," she said,
indicating it. She was a woman, and, dark as it was, she kept