f the great oaks in the
park. The old lady's eyes looked at him appealingly through the
pale-smoked glasses. How she would like that old place! And his
debts--he could pay them all.

"I will," he said suddenly; "if you will, I will; and I pray you may
never regret it."

"I don't think _you_ will regret it," she said gently; "it is a truly
kind act to me."

Bank and solicitor, duly consulted, testified to Miss Thrale's
respectability and to her income--the requisite hundred a year in
Consols. And on a certain day in June Michael Wood woke from a feverish
dream, in which obstinacy and the longing for money had fought with many
better things and worsted them, to find himself married to a
white-haired woman of sixty.

The awakening took place in his rooms in the Temple. He had yielded to
the little old lady's entreaties, and consented, most willingly, to
forego the "wedding journey," in this case so sad a mockery.

The set was a large one--five rooms; it seemed that they might live
here, and neither irk the other.

And she was in the room he had caused to be prepared for her--dainty and
neat as herself--and he, left alone in the room where he had first seen
her, crossed his arms on the table, and thought. His wedding-day! And it
might have been Sylvia, the rustle of whose dress he could hear in the
next room. He groaned. Then he laid his head on his arms and cried--like
a child that has lost its favourite toy: for he saw, suddenly, that
respect for his old wife must keep him from ever seeing Sylvia now; and
life looked grey as the Thames in February twilight.

A timid hand on his shoulder startled him to the raising of his
tear-stained face. The little old lady stood beside him.

"Ah, don't!" she said softly--"don't! Believe me, it will be all right.
Your old wife won't live more than a year--I know it. Take courage."

"_Don't!_" he said in his turn; "it's a wicked thing I've done. Forgive
me! If only we could have been friends. I can't bear to think I shall
make you unhappy."

"My dear boy," she said, "we are friends. I am your housekeeper. In a
year at latest you will see the last of my white hairs. Be brave."

He could not understand the pang her words gave him.

And now began, for these two, a strange life. In those Temple
rooms--ideal nest for young lovers--Mrs Wood, the white-haired, kept
house with firm and capable little hands. Comfort, which Michael's lazy
nature loved but could not achieve, reigned