ck," she said. "She
hasn't seen us--she mustn't see us. We must not wake her from her
dream. It's a doll she's rocking, and she's dreaming--she's dreaming
it's a child."

They started back without speaking, hushed and saddened by what they
had seen of another's tragedy; and as they went, Sheila was thinking of
the occasion in her childhood when she had pretended to be Lisbeth's
little daughter. It had happened so long ago, but in all the years
since then Lisbeth had been intent on the one dream, the one hope--that
of motherhood. All definite remembrance of the child she had borne and
lost was gone from her clouded brain, but the instinct and desire of
motherhood had remained; it had been life to her. Her mind, flickering
like a will-o'-the-wisp from one uncompleted thought to another, had
been steadfast enough in that; her heart, detached from every human
tie, had never faltered in its impulse of maternity. The tears filled
Sheila's eyes again, filled and overflowed so that Peter gave an
exclamation of concern and dismay.

"Poor Lisbeth!" she murmured. "Poor thing! And I who have my child am
discontented. What is the matter with me?"

It was the question she had put to Ted long ago--after that other
episode of Lisbeth--and he had been as bewildered as she. But there
was no bewilderment in the glance that met hers now. Nevertheless,
Peter did not answer her directly. But after awhile he said musingly:

"A bird's wings may be clipped, but its heart can't be changed.
Always--always--it is mad to fly!"

CHAPTER XII

Mrs. Caldwell had grown very fragile that autumn; not as if she were
ill, but rather as if she were gradually and gently relaxing her hold
on life. As yet no one but Peter had realized the change in her, but
to him it was sadly evident, and he visited her oftener than ever,
taking all he could of a friendship that would soon be his no longer.
He had stopped to see her on his way home from the seminary, the day
after his walk with Sheila, and it was upon Sheila that their talk
finally turned.

"I had a stroll with her yesterday afternoon," Peter remarked. "It's
rare luck for me to get any of her time nowadays. Marriage swallows
women terribly, doesn't it?"

"Sheila's marriage has certainly swallowed her," admitted Mrs.
Caldwell. "I'm fond of Ted--really very fond of him, in fact--but I've
always expected marriage to swallow his wife. He's that sort of man."

"You think he deman