The Supreme Sacrifice 
 
 OR 
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 
 
 By 
 
 MAMIE BOWLES 
 
 Author of 
 
 "Tbe Amazing Lady," etc. 
 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
 
 Publishers New York 
 
 1901
 
 Copyright, 1901, by 
 G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY 
 
 A U rights reserved 
 
 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE
 
 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 George Spenser stood outside the wooden door 
 which formed one entrance into his garden, and 
 watched the narrow lane that led to it. Ellice 
 Bastien was already due to arrive, and he partic- 
 ularly wanted to see her come up in the sunlight, 
 between the immense elm-trees on either side. It 
 was just in places such as this, and in full sun- 
 shine, that she looked her best. 
 
 It was her first visit to him. Never before in the 
 three years of their curious love affair had she 
 consented to visit alone at his house, and chape- 
 roned he had not desired to have her. The whole 
 grace of the incident would under those conditions 
 have ceased to exist. And now- suddenly, to a re- 
 quest made almost in jest, she had responded with 
 a serious affirmative. So he waited to receive her 
 by her own request at the gate of his garden, 
 and not at the station, as he had proposed; in 
 consenting to this visit it was obvious she had 
 not lost sense of its indiscretion, and, though 
 drawn to disregard the latter circumstance, re- 
 mained little desirous of being discovered. 
 
 George Spenser meanwhile, as he stood waiting 
 for the long-delayed, much-petitioned visit, was 
 
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 4 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 conscious that it should have been made sooner. 
 Not that he felt without pleasure in the prospect, 
 only the pleasure was less than it would have 
 been a year, or even six months, earlier. There 
 were circumstances now to mar it slightly, and a 
 precious occurrence, like a precious thing, should 
 be without flaw. 
 
 Why she had at this late hour retracted her 
 long-retained prudery puzzled him. Watching the 
 powdery road into which she should shortly enter, 
 he felt the inexplicability of her tardy visit to 
 be almost irritating. Ellice Bastien was not a 
 woman ever abandoned to sudden and overpow- 
 ering impulses. He could not entirely persuade 
 himself, therefore, that she had not, in coming, 
 some reason beside that given. 
 
 "We will celebrate my birthday in your garden," 
 was the explanation tendered, and in the face of 
 three years' unswerving refusal it struck him as 
 somewhat thin to conviction. 
 
 To cavil, however, at a good thing is foolish, 
 and George Spenser admitted that if it was a 
 little late, and if there were one or two matters 
 to disturb whole-hearted enjoyment, still, her com- 
 ing decorated the day sweetly as fresh-cut roses a 
 solitary chamber. To sit out the hours of sum- 
 mer sun with her in the shade of his garden, and 
 see her pretty head against the gloom of the 
 green, and her pretty movements amidst the color 
 of his flower borders, would certainly prove 
 charming to him. After all, his house would 
 hold something afterward it had not possessed 
 before. It would be enriched throughout, once
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 5 
 
 she had journeyed with her trailing skirts through 
 every part of it. With his knack of vivid remem- 
 brance he would subsequently be able to recall 
 at will how she had stood there, what winning 
 gesture she had made here, in what fashion the 
 effect of one room had influenced her appearance, 
 in what another. For, after all, there was no 
 one who could affect him as Ellice did. Come to 
 what cooling-point he might, Ellice still tri- 
 umphed. She dominated even when the heart 
 ceased leaping in her company. A few minutes 
 of her presence, and even when emotion kept tran- 
 quil, attention continued delighted and aroused. 
 At that moment the woman herself entered the 
 sun-suffused lane. Instantly Spenser was able to 
 assure himself that, regardless of its drawbacks, 
 her arrival did cause a very large amount of 
 pleasure. As he had expected, she looked her 
 best as she walked leisurely toward him. The 
 sun streamed on her, in front of her, behind her. 
 She was set in a haze cf gold, and the parasol 
 she held to shield her face was flecked and pat- 
 terned, like the skirt of her light-colored dress, 
 by the leaves of the trees she walked under. She 
 seemed all light, color, and delicate grace, and 
 as she neared him Spenser reflected afresh how 
 astoundingly she contrived to make herself al- 
 ways from head to foot attractive, personal, 
 complete. To-day she was a vista of gayety and 
 sunlight. Her big hat of leghorn straw had a 
 large rose-colored bow; her mauve lawn dress 
 was soft, fastidious, fluttering. She looked just 
 as a woman should look for a day's holiday and
 
 6 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 a day's sunshine, in tune, dainty, "spirituel" -with- 
 out flippancy, "joyeuse" without noise and with- 
 out excitement. 
 
 "My dear, I am glad to have you here." 
 
 He took both her hands, and imperilled her 
 hold of the rose-colored sunshade. As a matter 
 of fact, his pleasure had risen enormously at the 
 sight of her. It was just the day to pass with 
 Ellice just the day and place to make love to 
 her. He would kiss her in every part of the gar- 
 den. To kiss Ellice in a garden could not but be 
 exquisite. The fragrance of the garden and the 
 fragrance of her hair would mingle. She looked 
 fresh as a flower or a child, standing opposite to 
 him under the glow of her pink parasol. The 
 rosy lips slightly parted showed small white teeth 
 like flakes of snow fallen in between. And the cool 
 pale cheeks, whose absence of color had never- 
 theless an appearance of such perfect healthiness, 
 were smooth and soft as a little schoolgirl's. 
 
 Spenser drew her through the garden gate with 
 a brief querulous sigh. She was so charming, it 
 was, after all, absurd to let a creature of such 
 rarity slip through one's fingers into the grip of 
 another person. But it was a grotesque world 
 throughout, and must be realized as such. 
 
 "A happy birthday, sweet," he said, when they 
 had turned into the pathway and he had kissed 
 her several times. 
 
 "It is going to be a. perfect birthdajV answered 
 the woman, smiling. "Though at the same time 
 the 'finale' to happy birthdays." 
 
 "My dear, why?"
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 7 
 
 Quite a chill -wave passed over him in the sun- 
 light. That it did so was absurd, since the very 
 circumstance vaguely foreshadowed in her remark 
 was the one he himself must later only not till 
 the day's termination carefully propound to her. 
 Nevertheless, he did not like the sound of her 
 sudden statement. 
 
 "Because I grow old. Birthdays are only happy 
 when they mark the immense period of youth 
 still ahead. I am twenty-eight to-day. Next 
 birthday will be melancholy with the approach 
 of the crucial period thirty, after which conies 
 the chilling slide into middle age. Therefore it 
 beseems to-day to be quite perfect, for after to- 
 day I face the fact that I am getting every minute 
 older than is desirable." 
 
 "My dear, I was forty in April. You are a child 
 in comparison. As a matter of fact, you have 
 never yet looked quite grown up. Still, it is time 
 we settled down. We have been butterflies long 
 enough." 
 
 They were walking slowly down the gravel path 
 that ran like a yellow thread between beds of 
 hollyhocks, carnations, and campanulas. At his 
 remark Ellice Bastien suddenly stood still. Was 
 it she who now suffered an unreasonable shiver? 
 he wondered curiously, and not without a futile 
 regret. Apparently, however, she merely stopped 
 to pick herself a white carnation. 
 
 "Which of us do you propose should settle 
 down?" she asked carelessly, when she had gath- 
 ered it. 
 
 She turned and looked at him with eyes abso-
 
 8 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 lutcly undisturbed. Ellice had soft, shining eyes, 
 rather like a tender-hearted child's. To Spenser 
 their chief charm lay in their freedom from mo- 
 dernityits vexations, its doubts, its melancholia. 
 Not that they were expressionless; on the con- 
 trary, they possessed abundant emotional quali- 
 ties. They could laugh, make love, appeal, per- 
 suade, with a power and spontaneity he had 
 never seen equalled. By leaving alone the affairs 
 of the universe, apparently, they had been plen- 
 ished instead with personal qualities. And El- 
 lice's specialty was above all to be persuading, 
 and clean of corrosive morbidities. 
 
 At the present moment, however, he did not 
 like the carelessness of their expression. To be 
 insouciante is one thing, shallow another. He 
 did not wish to learn that Ellice possessed no 
 feeling worthy the appellation. Not to dwell on 
 deep emotions had been an art in her, but an art 
 he had always supposed merely a delicate veil 
 flung over passionate feeling to heighten its nor- 
 mal beauty. This talk of settling down should 
 at least bring a second's rippling to their seren- 
 ity. He replied in consequence with more lucidity 
 than he had intended: 
 
 "Both of us. It is time we got married, Ellice." 
 This time her eyes had for a second an eager 
 expression. 
 
 "May I inquire whom we are to marry?" 
 "Don't be supercilious, Ellice: you know it an- 
 noys me. Later on I will suggest whom it would 
 be wise of us to marry ; but it is a matter that 
 can wait. At present there is Ellice' s present to
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 9 
 
 give her, and Ellice's lunch to see about. When 
 we leave the flower-garden the real charm of the 
 place begins, as you will see. True, the trees en- 
 croach too much, nothing grows as it should, 
 and the place is as gloomy as its owner." 
 
 She abandoned the marriage question instantly, 
 as if a trifle handled by accident, and not worth 
 continuing seriously. With an ease that once more 
 against his will irritated her companion, she 
 entered into the festal possibilities of the day. 
 Throughout their journey over the garden, while 
 guarding any love passages from a hint of in- 
 tensity, she kissed and played with the shimmer- 
 ing grace of a butterfly. Only when they came in 
 sight of the house did she drop lightness, careful 
 of the possible eyes of his domestics. 
 
 The house was a large white building, set in 
 immense elms, firs, and chestnuts. These pressed 
 up against it, overshadowing and darkening every 
 side, except where one row of upper windows 
 overlooked a space of lawn. 
 
 Ellice stood on the dry grass and looked at the 
 queer-shaped shadows flung everywhere. Trees 
 shut in the place on every side, and gave an un- 
 natural appearance of gloom and seclusion to the 
 environment. Imagination was easily loosened 
 by it. Contact with the outside world had been 
 so completely cut off; the latter lost hold upon 
 intelligence. To look on any side was to see 
 nothing but dark masses of enclosing trees. Even 
 to look up was to perceive the sky, not as a 
 dome, but as an irregular-shaped piece of blue, 
 set in foliage also,
 
 10 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Upon the woman, at least, the overtopping trees 
 produced a singular effect. They surrounded the 
 place so absolutely they seemed to make of it a 
 little world of its own. Anything might happen 
 there. The atmosphere was heavy with poten- 
 tialities. 
 
 "Your house is a little sinister, George," she 
 said, standing like a mauve flower upon the lawn 
 "sinister and foreboding. It is full of person- 
 ality, but I am not sure that it does not think 
 of evil things. Ah, I know ! your house is like 
 a woman, and the trees are her lovers. It is 
 they who are evil, and who corrupt her thoughts. 
 Cut down that mass of trees there and those 
 round the entrance, and she would breathe freely 
 again. More, with a woman's quick adaptability, 
 she would turn respectable on the instant." 
 
 "My dear Ellice, now and again you make me 
 wonder. You look like a parlor boarder, you 
 behave like a prudish angel, while just now and 
 then you talk as if you possessed a good deal of 
 the devil. Are you a devil or an angel, Ellice?" 
 
 She put her parasol at the back of her head, 
 and reflected with her lips slightly apart. 
 
 Spenser adored her when her mouth unclosed 
 in this fashion. Her teeth were so beautiful, 
 dimly apprehended between the rosy gayety of 
 her lips. For the small white teeth, more than 
 anything, he had coined fantastic praises during 
 the three years of their singular love-story. Some- 
 times they struck him as the drifted petals of a 
 white rose, sometimes as being like a narrow 
 strip of moon emerging through the crimson of
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 11 
 
 sunset, sometimes as recalling a little stream of 
 sparkling water one craved to press one's feverish 
 mouth against. 
 
 "Dear, I am not in the mood for confession, 
 and I leave the decision in your hands. Only, 
 believe me, to be a devil is mostly to lack imag- 
 ination. Oh! is that our lunch being laid out 
 under the trees? How pretty it looks! Have 
 you got me nice things to eat and champagne 
 to drink? Yes, after all, I like your house; and 
 you are right, George it is heart-breaking to try 
 and keep it up on four hundred pounds a year." 
 
 "My dear, in this immense place I keep in the 
 house itself only a man and his wife. It is all I 
 can afford, and the whole building is falling to 
 pieces for want of repairs." 
 
 For the first time the woman realized that her 
 friend had strong incentives to marry for money. 
 Without profession, his interests must necessarily 
 be to a large extent centred upon this rambling 
 residence. And to possess it in the fashion he did 
 now, with both land and house growing wild for 
 lack of means to maintain order, could only con- 
 stitute an unceasing irritation. She was at all 
 times sorry for George Spenser. His ill-health 
 alone kept a thread of pity drawn through all 
 her feelings for him. But consciousness of the 
 entirety of his existence's disappointment had 
 never been so sharp as it was while she walked 
 with him under the shade of the trees in his gar- 
 den. In truth, nothing had gone well with the 
 man. From his birth the undesirable had hap- 
 pened, for his mother died as he came into the
 
 12 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 world. During childhood his father, an officer 
 quartered in India, had left him, terms and holi- 
 days alike, at a boarding-school in England. 
 
 Subsequently George Spenser also had passed 
 into the army, and in his regiment, at least, El- 
 lice understood, had been extremely happy. The 
 fever for promotion -was in the marrow of his 
 bones, and the life itself was barely congenial to 
 him. Then he had an attack of rheumatic fever, 
 recovered, and a year later broke a blood-vessel 
 in the left lung. It was a catastrophe that had 
 ruined his life. 
 
 Obliged to give up the army, he had spent 
 years creeping from one foreign health-resort to 
 another, solely occupied in eluding the hankering 
 fingers of Death. At last he had recovered suffi- 
 ciently to be considered healed. He returned to 
 England, lean, embittered, with every possible 
 ambition burnt up in him, and with nothing to 
 anticipate but an existence of constant watch- 
 fulness against a recurrence of disease. How he 
 had lived for the next eighteen months Ellice had 
 no notion probably on an allowance from his 
 father. Then, quite unexpectedly, his father died, 
 leaving him Rook House certainly, since, as en- 
 tailed property, he had no option to do other- 
 wise, but, except for the sum of four hundred 
 pounds a year, willing every penny to a mistress 
 his son had never even heard of. 
 
 It was the more deplorable since keeping up the 
 place left him was the one interest George Spen- 
 ser's ill-health allowed him thoroughly to enjoy. 
 Under present conditions his existence had become
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 13 
 
 meaningless. By temperament both ambitious 
 and active, he passed life in an apathetic dearth 
 of every congenial occupation. 
 
 Touched by compassion, the woman slipped her 
 fingers through his as they entered the house. 
 Only three living-rooms were in use : the dining- 
 room, the library, and a music-room opening out 
 of the library. The tone of all these apartments 
 was sombre. Ellice Bastien felt oppressed by 
 them. 
 
 "Your rooms are terribly in earnest, George," 
 she said, by way of comment. 
 
 "Poverty generally is," he replied pettishly. 
 Then, looking at her as she sat in a big chair in 
 the library, his face softened. "It suits you to 
 perfection, dear. You look so sweetly frivolous 
 in this room, I could laugh merely to look at 
 you." 
 
 Only to Ellice Bastien did the harshness of Spen- 
 ser's delivery ever diminish. She knew a softness 
 in his voice no other woman had ever heard in 
 it. He used it now, and for a second she closed 
 her eyelids. 
 
 "The heat is insufferable in the house. Let us 
 go out, George, into the garden again. Where 
 the hammock is swung under the trees it looks 
 delightful." 
 
 When they reached it, the man-servant was still 
 furnishing a table with luncheon. Two white 
 wicker chairs were drawn up to it. In the ham- 
 mock had been flung a quantity of old brocade 
 cushions. 
 
 Ellice drew up to the white table with a con-
 
 14 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 tented smile. Spenser, however, was not hungry ; 
 the pink bow of his companion's large leghorn 
 hat, the pink bow tied on one side of her soft 
 chin, the pink of her lips, the faint suggestion of 
 pink come into her cheeks, absorbed him. They 
 had for the man an intoxicating grace. The very 
 soul of what he loved, the rosy, delicate joyful- 
 ness of summer and of youth, seemed to have 
 radiantly poised itself upon them.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The afternoon was waning. Ellice Bastien lay 
 in the hammock watching the gold haze of sun- 
 light illumine the leaves above her head. She 
 would have liked to wait until that ceased, and 
 then watch, instead, for the rose patches between 
 the green, yielded by the sun's setting. And after- 
 wards, still to lie on undisturbed, until the silver 
 of the moon washed the lawn before the house 
 with an inexplicable pallor, as if the green had 
 been some woman's cheek, blanched by unspeak- 
 able horrors. 
 
 When the man-servant in a greasy black suit 
 brought out tea, she roused herself to resume 
 conversation. For about ten minutes she had 
 not spoken. George Spenser, however, reckoned 
 these occasional lapses in silence as one of her 
 most charming qualities. For Ellice Bastien could 
 be silent without seeming to be concerned with 
 serious matters. She appeared placid only, and 
 gave Spenser the impression that for the most 
 part she was simply abandoned to a vague sense 
 of well being. Once or twice curiosity had in- 
 duced him to break one of these meditations. 
 He had asked what she was thinking of. To 
 his great relief, she replied on each occasion: 
 "Nothing, that I know of. I was just contented" ; 
 and he had thanked Providence that there was 
 still a woman left in existence who did not want
 
 16 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 to be considered deep as a well, beneath a lid of 
 superficialities. 
 
 He himself, during this afternoon's brief break 
 in conversation, had thought definitely enough 
 both of himself and her. Since she had arrived, 
 his sense of having cooled to the steady calm of 
 friendship had taken on elements of uncertainty. 
 Here in his garden she gave him, with a force 
 almost forgotten latterly, the impression of pos- 
 sessing an unquenchable fount of fascination. All 
 the time that she lay in the hammock, thrown 
 into relief by the sombre foliage about her, he 
 experienced with a renewed sharpness how ab- 
 solutely she contained the qualities he worshipped 
 most possibly for lack of them. Health perme- 
 ated her health and gayety ; and as an outcome 
 of these two things also unflagging courage in 
 the face of all vicissitudes. It might be shallow- 
 to float so optimistically over the perturbed wa- 
 ters of existence ; it might be heartless, so many 
 horrors seething under one's little shallop; but 
 how the gay floating thing cheered the eyesight, 
 and through its dauntless courage renewed one's 
 lungs with freshness! Spenser, who felt so con- 
 tinuously the despairing side to man's brief ca- 
 reer, could have risen in the middle of his reflec- 
 tions and irrelevantly embraced his companion, 
 in gratitude for her untarnished lightness. 
 
 Never had his own absurdity in avoiding mar- 
 riage with her struck him more penetratingly 
 than it did for a minute or two as he watched 
 her playing with the jewel he had flung upon 
 her lap after luncheon. Every birthday and every
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 17 
 
 Christmas since the commencement of their love 
 affair he gave her some trinket in topazes and 
 diamonds, usually after pawning one of the old 
 objets (fart scattered about the house. 
 
 To-day he had given her an old shoe-buckle, for 
 use as a clasp at the waist. She was holding it 
 up to make the thin rays of sunlight coming be- 
 tween the leaves play upon the stones. Undoubt- 
 edly she was the only woman he had ever sin- 
 cerely cared for. More, she was the only woman 
 who had ever sincerely cared for him. Her in- 
 fluence for this last fact alone remained uncon- 
 querable, its sweetness, after realization of being 
 a failure with the sex, having a unique character 
 to him. For three years she had softened and 
 ameliorated his life, and, nevertheless, during all 
 that period he had resisted with the whole force 
 of his nature the craving to be more than a de- 
 voted friend to her. The feelings she roused were 
 too sanctifying to destroy by marriage. This 
 was the argument by which he barricaded himself 
 against any definite proposal to her. 
 
 But from the beginning it had been a singular 
 love affair. They had met one evening at an "at 
 home" given by a mutual acquaintance. She had 
 played a few pieces of Greig's charmingly, risen 
 from the piano, and walked across the room to 
 take a chair left vacant near to where Spenser 
 was sitting. As she came unconsciously toward 
 him, Spenser decided that, at any cost, they must 
 be made known to one another. Her mouth 
 alone, with its smiling, careless grace, affected 
 him to an extent quite unprecedented. They were
 
 18 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 introduced at his request, and she talked neither 
 smartly nor foolishly. That she was happy, 
 however, her face, her voice, her manner, pro- 
 claimed incessantly. Not a shadow of grief or 
 yearning darkened her eyes or aged her lips. 
 Spenser loved her in an hour, conscious that she 
 would haunt his life from that evening as the 
 one woman perfect as a flower the one lovely 
 woman he had ever met who did not tarnish 
 her beauty, either by an artificial melancholy or 
 an artificial worldliness. Before the end of their 
 conversation, moreover, he had assured himself 
 that she could be serious without pessimism, 
 without complaint, and without weltschmerz. 
 A content as delicate as the threads of her sim- 
 mering hair appeared to saturate her disposi- 
 tion. 
 
 Frankly requesting a re-meeting, it had been 
 granted cordially. Miss Bastien lived with her 
 widowed aunt in Kensington, and permitted him 
 to call upon her there. Each time he saw her 
 she influenced him more. In a month her pres- 
 ence became the one delight he felt himself to live 
 for. His chill temperament warmed for the first 
 time to ungrudging appreciation. Also, for the 
 first time in his relations to women, he had a sense 
 of being, through sheer need, helpless and feeble 
 as a child. This simple longing for Ellice Bas- 
 tien both appalled and fascinated him in its in- 
 tensity. At thirty-eight to experience an unpre- 
 cedented emotion of sufficient force to become a 
 prey to it had a singular attraction. Once be- 
 fore, certainly, he had genuinely loved a woman.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 19 
 
 As a boy of seventeen he had idolized a nursery 
 governess, and they had kissed, as youth should, 
 long and frequently. But there had been no rep- 
 etition of sentimental disturbance. 
 
 Unattractive to women having at heart a keen 
 contempt for them he had grown to accept the 
 inability to feel extremely and tenderly as part 
 of his temperament. And suddenly, in the soured, 
 ill-health-vitiated maturity of his life, came an 
 affection scarcely brushed by passion, and con- 
 taining surprising elements of admiration, humil- 
 ity, consternation an affection fresh as a school- 
 boy's in its vigor and absorption. 
 
 Nevertheless, three months later he frankly im- 
 plored Ellice Bastien not to marry him, and so 
 drag down the one lovely episode of his life to 
 the commonplace level of the rest. There was not 
 money enough on either side for a happy mar- 
 riage, the girl having only a hundred pounds a 
 year of her own, he a beggarly four hundred. 
 
 Moreover, genuinely, Spenser discredited his 
 own capacity to continue faithful to so abnormal 
 an affection. Married, harassed, ill, its shimmer 
 must inevitably be brushed off. Passion would 
 enter in to corrupt and destroy, habit and entire 
 understanding add their weight to torporize. He 
 recalled grimly how he had loathed the few flirta- 
 tions of his past after a short time of intimacy, 
 and felt, without conscious affectation, that any 
 abnegation was preferable to spoliation of his 
 one suave and unique adoration. 
 
 What Ellice Bastien thought had never been 
 shown either through words or facial expression.
 
 20 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 She had, of course, acquiesced with consummate 
 grace. More, she had clarified by plausible sen- 
 tences the notions he experienced difficulty in find- 
 ing words for. It became in her hands a definite 
 theory that to love exceedingly, and then marry, 
 was to haul down an emotion meant to be a 
 pedestalled remembrance for the rest of life. No 
 real lover, man or woman, should sink to the dull 
 mood of husband or -wife. After such love as 
 theirs, for instance, what agony to descend to 
 petty squabbles, to the incessant sordid fight of 
 keeping body and soul together, to a familiarity 
 at which worship slunk derisive away. Rich, 
 they might have manipulated marriage with a 
 care which would have rendered it only trivially 
 disconcerting. 
 
 But Ellice's charm, as Spenser felt it, was the 
 combination of many things, perfection of dress 
 and perfection of untroubled composure going to 
 the making of it. It was Ellice herself, it is true, 
 smiling her childishly bright smile, who put a good 
 deal of this into words for him. Her utterances, 
 however, fitted his thoughts so closely that from 
 that day they had drifted into the unlabelled, 
 undefined relationship which had continued ever 
 since, its duration due, probably, to the sense of 
 expectancy that lurked at its roots the wide 
 doors left open to possibility. 
 
 Yet during the last year or so Spenser had oc- 
 casionally congratulated himself on the insight 
 of his matrimonial abstinence. As he had fore- 
 seen, all dulls and deadens. Ellice remained his 
 delightful friend, but she was no longer an obses-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 21 
 
 sion, and he had no longer active regrets over 
 insufficiency of her society. 
 
 The irritating thing was that just to-day, of 
 all days, he should feel a revival of intenseness. 
 But, then, never had she looked more charming, 
 more reposeful, more fresh. In the insufferable 
 heat she remained cool as the breeze of morning, 
 and delicately airy as a butterfly. 
 
 Just then she lifted herself up and came to the 
 tea-table. Having poured out tea, she leaned her 
 elbows on the table and smiled at him. 
 
 "My dear Bruno, you are very deep in thought. 
 Is the little Bear permitted to know them? And, 
 by the way, too, may I ask before I go who it 
 is decided we should marry?" 
 
 Spenser felt angrily as she spoke, that one has, 
 after all, to pay for the charm of optimism. El- 
 lice's was undoubtedly a light nature. Obviously 
 she had no feeling for him, except as one foremost 
 in the crowd of worshippers. 
 
 "My dear girl, it is not decided we should marry 
 at all. Nevertheless, as I said before, it is time 
 we thought of settling down. Soon, as far as I 
 am concerned, at least, it will be too late, and 
 solitary old age is chilling to the bones." 
 
 She stared at him placidly. 
 
 "In other words, the larger Bear is about to 
 marry. Who are you about to marry, George?" 
 
 He liked neither the unconcern of her expres- 
 sion nor the directness of her question. In fact, 
 he detested both. The desire to fence and deny 
 rose immediately. But she was still Ellice, the 
 one woman he felt repugnance to humbugging.
 
 22 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Besides, she must be told. Already it -was per- 
 haps somewhat late to break facts to her, since 
 any day she might hear disagreeably from other 
 people. 
 
 "Dear friend, I do not know, as I said before, 
 that I am going to marry any one. There is a 
 lady I have some thoughts, certainly, of asking 
 to be my -wife, but whether she will have me is 
 another question. I should think it highly im- 
 probable." 
 
 He felt he had told it clumsily, and the knowl- 
 edge increased his irritability. Ellice looked at 
 him reflectively. 
 
 "She has money, of course. You will be able 
 to keep up Rook House in the way you want?" 
 
 "Yes, she has money." 
 
 Again the baldness of his sentence annoyed him, 
 but for his life he could neither have lengthened 
 nor adorned it. The worst, moreover, was to 
 come. She could only ask next the name of the 
 lady. He tilted his chair back and contemplated 
 the leaves behind her head. It would be a relief, 
 certainly, when the next question was a thing of 
 the past. Unknown to him, but not to his com- 
 panion, his breath came audibly. To his intense 
 surprise, and having prepared every nerve for it 
 to his disappointment, she did not even continue 
 the conversation. She got up and held out two 
 strawberry-stained hands to him. 
 
 "Can I wash my hands? And it is almost time 
 I put on my hat again." 
 
 "Of course; Mrs. Temple shall attend to you. 
 Come, dirty child."
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 23 
 
 He took her by the hand towards the house, 
 but the resentment in his mind was unmistak- 
 able. The woman took no notice, but as he de- 
 livered her into the hands of the housekeeper she 
 turned to him with a laugh full of freshness and 
 amusement. 
 
 '*! am very interested, really, in our matrimo- 
 nial prospects. We must settle yours first, because 
 you are somewhat the elder, and then mine. The 
 smaller Bear is not going to be left companionless 
 to have chilly bones, either." 
 
 Then, still laughing, she followed the impassive- 
 looking Mrs. Temple up the stairs, leaving Spen- 
 ser to wait for her in the hall.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 She was ushered into the one opened spare bed- 
 room. It smelt a little stuffy, for all its open 
 -windows, and had the cold propriety of any 
 room that has long been unoccupied. Neverthe- 
 less, there were flowers everywhere. Ellice Bas- 
 tien went up to the muslin-covered dressing-table, 
 and buried her face in a big bowl of red roses. 
 Her friend had at least made a very bower of 
 his house for her reception. 
 
 "Ah, miss, Mr. Spenser picked every flower he 
 could to make the house gay like, it being so 
 much shut up, and he 'aving ladies to-day and 
 to-morrow, too. It isn't often we 'ave visitors, 
 though Mr. Temple and me looks forward to 
 them. It does make a change like." 
 
 The girl stood fingering the roses while her 
 escort talked. She made no answer, however, 
 and seemed absorbed in thought. Mrs. Temple 
 poured hot water into the basin, and laid a towel 
 conveniently near. Then, seeing that the lady 
 continued silent, she withdrew from the room. 
 
 When she had gone, the other began to wash 
 her hands. The placid look had passed out of 
 her face, and to some extent its freshness also. 
 Immense disheartenment crept round the lips. 
 They drooped like a child's that would cry, but 
 dare not. When she had dried her hands, she 
 went across the room and stood for a few min-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 25 
 
 utes against the chintz curtains of the window, 
 watching the white chairs tinder the trees upon 
 the lawn. Suddenly her head drooped, and she 
 hid it brusquely in her two hands. 
 
 "Oh, God !" she muttered, and pressed her palms 
 over her lips, as if to check them from indiscre- 
 tions. 
 
 She kept her countenance concealed, apparently 
 until something that labored to find place in it 
 had subsided below the surface again. Then she 
 withdrew her hands, and with one brief sigh 
 went back to the dressing-table. She combed her 
 hair, put on her hat with its buoyant-looking 
 rose bow, and went down-stairs. 
 
 Spenser looked up at the sound of her feet upon 
 the stairs. 
 
 "Why, you look quite -white, child; come out 
 into the air again," he said, surprised at her 
 dulled appearance. 
 
 "I must go in half an hour," she answered, 
 sitting in the hammock once more. "I told auntie 
 I should be home to dinner." 
 
 "Impossible. You are to dine here under the 
 trees, with Japanese lanterns above your head. 
 I will feed you and kiss you in turns. Then I 
 will take you back myself. I think the nightin- 
 gales will be singing before then." 
 
 "I must go back in half an hour. No, dear, 
 you are not to look angry; it is out of the ques- 
 tion for me to stay so late." 
 
 "I say you shall not go." 
 
 Spenser's lips thinned as he spoke, and his eyes 
 half closed. In the moonlight, with her hair like
 
 26 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 powdered silver, how beautiful to walk with her ! 
 The nightingales would flood the night with mu- 
 sic, and he would hoard henceforth in his mem- 
 ory one scene of almost supernatural enchant- 
 ment. He would not give it up. She was a silly 
 child when she fought for idiotic trifles. Besides, 
 this was an incident that could not be repeated. 
 She had chosen to retain rigid propriety so long 
 she could have her pleasure once only; after to- 
 morrow matters would have altered too much. 
 Anger made him feverish, and his brow moist- 
 ened. 
 
 "Do you want to make me ill, Ellice?" he ex- 
 claimed with pettish resentment. 
 
 "No, George, no," replied the girl gently. 
 
 The least allusion to his health roused her ten- 
 derness. The temperament of a robust man made 
 bitter ineptitudes in a constitution undermined 
 by exhausting fevers. 
 
 "Then stay. Ellice, I say you shall not go; do 
 you hear?" 
 
 "I will stay another day." 
 
 Her voice had the low, enticed intonation he 
 loved. Ellice's voice yielded a more moving sub- 
 mission to emotion than any voice he had ever 
 heard. More than once during the past three 
 years he had fled terror-stricken at the disturb- 
 ance created by it. 
 
 "There will be no other day. At least, it is 
 preposterous to postpone pleasure." 
 
 The confession had slipped out before he realized 
 its significance. The statement could not have 
 been made more inopportunely. The magnetized
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 27 
 
 expression left the -woman's eyes. She turned to 
 the tea-table and took up a cocoanut biscuit. 
 
 "Of course, I had forgotten the lady. And she 
 comes to-morrow, I understand, George, so you 
 have two good days together. Ellice to-day, and 
 to-morrow a bettering even of Ellice. But now I 
 want her name, and please don't glare at me be- 
 cause I eat too much. You know I love cocoa- 
 nut biscuits, and that I adore putting my teeth 
 in anything crisp. Tell me, dear friend for, seri- 
 ously, I want you to be happy who is the 
 lady?" 
 
 It had come at last. Spenser silently damned 
 himself and the lady. 
 
 "You know her, child. It was you, even, who 
 introduced us. I am thinking, if she will have 
 me, of asking Miss Whittacker to be my wife." 
 
 "Gillette?" 
 
 "Certainly. Have you any objection to her, 
 Ellice?" 
 
 The latter had risen. There was a silence, 
 sharp as a blade, between them. The girl held to 
 the cords of the hammock, as if for support. Her 
 distress was visibly extreme. Spenser, astounded, 
 recalled her callousness earlier in the day. Now 
 she was evidently jealous, but the fact was so 
 ridiculous he made no effort to commence its dis- 
 persion. 
 
 "George, you cannot marry Miss Whittacker. 
 It is out of the question. Her mother is impos- 
 sible, the laughing-stock of everybody. She has 
 hardly an h in her composition. The frank sor- 
 didness of the thing is like an open proclamation.
 
 28 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Besides, you have often said Gillette herself looks 
 common." 
 
 She spoke low and rapidly, not looking at him, 
 while every note in her voice shook. Spenser had 
 never seen her moved to the same extent before. 
 The sight dispersed some measure of his irritation. 
 It made a difference to know that the one woman 
 who had sincerely loved him was full of love, not 
 supplied with it merely as skimmed milk with 
 cream. 
 
 "I am not marrying Miss Whittacker for her 
 looks. That she has attractive qualities, you, 
 who are her friend, must know as \vell as I. She 
 appears to me to have a very beautiful disposi- 
 tion." 
 
 "Yes, she has one of the most beautiful natures 
 conceivable, and that is why you must not marry 
 her. You do not love her, and you would ruin 
 her life. Gillette knows nothing but what is good 
 and holy. That would aggravate you, and you 
 would torture her. George, I beseech you not to 
 marry Gillette. I quite realize you must marry 
 for money, but not her. Marry Lady Mary she 
 is rich enough and hard enough." 
 
 She poured her sentences out in a passionate 
 whisper. But they had already ceased to charm 
 him by their intensity, and he disliked the paltry 
 atmosphere of tragedy enveloping the situation. 
 Besides, she commenced to be idiotic, flinging at 
 him a woman, in a way, as pretty as herself a 
 woman he might presumably grow to have con- 
 siderable affection for while imploring him, with 
 a voice that almost broke, to eschew a union
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 29 
 
 that could under no conceivable circumstances 
 hold any dangers as regards his constancy to 
 herself. 
 
 As it was, however, Lady Mary formed an awk- 
 ward interpolation. Six months ago he had as- 
 certained that any offer in that quarter would 
 avail nothing. He owed the woman in question, 
 indeed, a grudge for having protested upon too 
 many occasions that she detested "sickly men." 
 
 "I was not aware that hardness in a woman 
 was an attractive quality to me, Ellice. Dear 
 child, come and sit down and be your charming 
 self once more. This attitude in you has almost 
 an air of affectation. If it will set your mind at 
 rest, let me assure you that I entertain for Miss 
 Whittacker the most warm and affectionate feel- 
 ings." 
 
 Ellice, without replying, walked slowly away 
 both from the hammock and him. 
 
 He watched her enter into the yellow haze of 
 sunlight outside the shade in which they sat. The 
 light illuminated her. Even the thin mauve of 
 her gown became transfigured and luminous. 
 What beautiful hips she had, too, standing with 
 her head half turned away from him. But, charm- 
 ing as her figure was, Spenser reflected chiefly how 
 unmitigatedly thankful he would be when her 
 good sense urged her to drop high-flown remon- 
 strances. Then he could take her on his knee 
 and persuade her, as usual, that what he did 
 was the only advisable course of action. 
 
 Fortunately, one could easily cajole the pretty 
 smile to her lips and the laughter to her eyes.
 
 30 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Ellice appreciated depression as little as he did. 
 Besides, she had intelligence enough to see that 
 his incurable ill-health made money a necessity 
 to him. Candidly he vowed once more, as he 
 watched her, that by this ill-health not only his 
 life, but his character, had been vitiated. A hun- 
 dred petty necessities had arisen that had no nat- 
 ural soil in a healthy man. Through the weak- 
 ness that had soaked into his physique had 
 sprung, if not an utterly fresh aspect of existence, 
 at least utterly fresh personal desires from it. 
 The sportsman, to begin with, had been killed in 
 him. Active occupations were no longer possible, 
 and the absence of their influence slowly made 
 itself felt in an increase of nervous susceptibility, 
 a slow encroachment of discontent, and a fretful- 
 ness of mind toward existence itself, that had not 
 previously characterized him. For the most part 
 now he spent his time fighting against a physical 
 lassitude that tended more and more to disable 
 him. And life was valueless without physical 
 well-being. No man more keenly than Spenser 
 realized a sound constitution as the first essential 
 for happiness. 
 
 This marriage, he reflected as Ellice had in- 
 sight enough to see also, if she chose formed only 
 another unsightly consequence of his shattered 
 physique. The few pleasures he could enjoy were 
 only procurable with money, and to the majority 
 of women he was curiously without fascination. 
 The underlying dislike he had to the sex obtruded 
 itself through the elaborate politeness. Women 
 felt the absence of the woman-lover.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 31 
 
 At that moment the girl came toward him 
 again. He got up to meet her, against his will, 
 contrasting her with the woman he should enter- 
 tain in the same place to-morrow. At his age, 
 however, it was absurd to be hampered by senti- 
 mentalities. Incontestably it was desirable he 
 should be rich, and except by marriage there ap- 
 peared no way open for him to be so. Naturally, 
 he would have preferred to attain riches through 
 more personal and ambitious methods. That be- 
 ing impossible, however, squeamishness as to the 
 exact quantity of affection given for illimitable 
 capacity scarcely entered into calculation. 
 
 "George, can't you give up the idea of marry- 
 ing Gillette Whittacker? I know her we were at 
 school together and her goodness often makes 
 me want to cry with self-contempt. You will not 
 understand her, and she will not understand you. 
 And Gillette is all feeling that is, all fertile ground 
 for suffering. Bruno dear believe me, I know 
 you both, and this marriage could only bring 
 misery to you and to her." 
 
 She came to him and laid her cool cheek against 
 his face, resting with one arm wound round his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Damn the other woman!" thought Spenser; 
 this was the only woman worth marrying in 
 the universe. Nevertheless, he knew his plans too 
 matured for abandonment. If he agreed to-day, 
 to-morrow he would merely smile at an absurd 
 impulsiveness. "Dearest, be good and sensible. 
 It is true I do not love Miss Whittacker. To love 
 any other woman but yourself, Ellice, is impos-
 
 32 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 sible to me. All the force of affection I have is 
 yours. With money you and I could have made 
 a perfect marriage. As it is, I wish to be rich. 
 No, don't wriggle away from me, I intend to 
 be rich, Ellice, and enjoy for a few years the 
 sense, at least, of being somebody. I am not 
 likely either to ill-treat my wife or to ignore her. 
 Gratitude alone would prevent that." 
 
 Ellice had ceased caressing. She stood and list- 
 ened merely. For the first time almost in his ex- 
 perience Spenser saw her face perturbed and restless. 
 At that moment a fly drove up to the front door. 
 
 "It is the station fly I ordered. I must go. To- 
 day has been like a little pastoral up to now, 
 but this has spoilt it. I love Gillette, I love you, 
 but together I cannot see either one or the other. 
 However, I wish you happiness, George, as you 
 know." 
 
 He made no efforts now to keep her. This Gil- 
 lette discussion had put them completely out of 
 tune. He followed her, therefore, toward the fly. 
 In passing the table, half mechanically he gath- 
 ered up the roses out of the bowl in the centre. 
 At the side of the house he kissed her once or 
 twice, as much from habit as inclination. Annoy- 
 ance made him feel vapid and tired. Even Ellice 
 was temporarily distasteful. The latter allowed 
 his kisses, but as she took the flowers he held 
 out to her at the carriage door, he saw a look 
 singularly like contempt travel across her face. 
 
 "Good-by, dear," she said, however, lightly. 
 "But I was right. It does show a lack of imag- 
 ination to be a devil."
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 Gillette Whittacker knelt at the side of her bed, 
 and prayed long and earnestly. She was ready 
 dressed for the outing with her mother to Rook 
 House. But while the elder lady made more 
 lengthy preparations, the girl on her knees clasped 
 hands that trembled through the intensity of her 
 petitions. To-day, of all days, she needed God's 
 light to illuminate her spirit; for honestly and 
 sincerely she stood before an alternative in 
 which she could not see wherein duty could be 
 said absolutely to lie. The question that per- 
 turbed so deeply dealt with her approaching offer 
 of marriage. Would or would not God give con- 
 sent to a union with George Spenser? Gillette 
 suffered, prayed, hesitated. The sinlessnes of an 
 acceptance would not prove itself incontestable, 
 and she beat at her conscience ceaselessly for 
 some closed door to fly open and pour light upon 
 her sore-pressed intellect. 
 
 She rose from her knees at last, and went to 
 the open window. It was another day of over- 
 powering sunshine. All the women she saw wore 
 hats and gowns like the spoils of some dewy 
 garden. The charm of color clung to every one 
 of them at that distance, and Gillette, watching, 
 drew an indrawn breath. 
 
 To-day, had it not been a sinful vanity, she 
 would have liked to go out in the sun radiant 
 
 v 3
 
 34 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 in flowers and costly apparel. They charmed the 
 eyes, and for once she could not quell the instinct 
 murmuring that it had an indefinable attraction 
 to be found pleasing. She closed her eyes, and 
 prayed to be kept from a selfish vanity. 
 
 Then, calmed and strengthened, she returned to 
 her anxious dubieties as regards George Spenser. 
 Her mother had talked for days of few other 
 subjects besides the certainty that this invitation 
 of to-day was a delicate preliminary to a pro- 
 posal of marriage. According to Mrs. Sinclair, 
 Mr. Spenser very properly, before proceeding fur- 
 ther with so well known an heiress, wished to 
 show that he had a suitable home to ask her to. 
 The invitation was a charming and gentlemanly 
 action, and they must, of course, accept it. Be- 
 sides, she Mrs. Sinclair felt particularly anxious 
 to go over the place. They could see then what 
 alterations -would be necessary, and how much 
 money -would have to be spent, for Mr. Spenser 
 had never made any concealment as to the 
 amount of his income. From the beginning of 
 their acquaintance he had never posed as anything 
 but a poor man. Poverty in his case, however, 
 Mrs. Sinclair insisted, constituted no drawback 
 at all. Gillette had enough money for both. 
 Position formed the real essential parents one 
 could mention, friends in a good set a place 
 come to one through one's ancestors. 
 
 George Spenser met her requirements ; therefore 
 Gillette would of course marry him and be thank- 
 ful. Being so plain, it was, for all her money, a 
 stroke of luck to be proposed to by a "real gentle-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 35 
 
 man," though, for that matter, Gillette's father 
 had been a gentleman, and her daughter would 
 therefore only be returning to her right sphere 
 by accepting this propitious marriage. 
 
 Gillette, as she stood by the window, recalled 
 her mother's conversation merely for the support 
 it offered to her own conviction that George 
 Spenser's attentions truly expressed more than a 
 mild affection. 
 
 On the table by her austere-looking little bed 
 was a glass vase holding a great bunch of pink 
 roses. Almost every day he sent some spray of 
 flowers to trouble her virginal heart, until finally 
 it seemed to her that this disturbing fragrance 
 mutely presaged the nature of her future with 
 the lover who made them almost the sole but 
 incessant speakers in his suit. Nevertheless, Gil- 
 lette, though lured by a growing sense of sweet 
 bewilderment, hung back with a prayer upon her 
 lips. Did she truly love this man, or only the un- 
 accustomed refinement and subtlety of his woo- 
 ing, the inexpressible charm of supposing at last 
 that she was loved for her person, and not for 
 her wealth merely? It was all so good, this un- 
 precedented love-making, these flowers, these re- 
 strained but eager notes showered upon her along 
 with them, this ardent pursuance everywhere by 
 one person, that Gillette had grown terrified at 
 last of being drawn into a mental whirlpool, 
 where resistance would be useless. For she had 
 a question to answer her God before proceeding. 
 Was this marriage for the furthering of holiness 
 and one's power to help other human beings?
 
 36 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Gillette leaned against the window-frame and 
 faced the fact that George Spenser was not a re- 
 ligious man. He had himself confessed that. 
 Could, therefore, such a marriage receive Christ's 
 blessing? She almost wailed to Him to answer 
 for her. It only needed clearness of knowledge, 
 and with His help she could dissever herself from 
 the entangling threads woven daily closer about 
 her affections. 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and Mrs. 
 Sinclair entered the room. She was ready at last, 
 and fastened the completing button of her glove 
 as she came toward the door. Her eyes instantly 
 travelled to her daughter's attire, and at the sight 
 her lips screwed to a grimace. 
 
 "My dear Gillette, couldn't you make a little 
 compromise for this one occasion? Taking the 
 weather into consideration, couldn't you have 
 worn something a little more airy, at least?" 
 
 She spoke plaintively, with eyes journeying un- 
 satisfied over the girl's person. Gillette had on a 
 dark-blue alpaca gown, made in the plainest 
 fashion. She wore on her head a white sailor 
 hat with a black ribbon. Under its stiff straight 
 brim the full round lines of the girl's face were 
 unsoftened and unconcealed, and her brown hair 
 drawn tightly back on either side gave it a bare 
 look, as if something were exposed that should 
 have been hidden. The cheeks seemed too full, 
 the head and temples too small. And Gillette's 
 complexion, as her mother remarked to herself 
 drearily, condemned any face. The color was a 
 hard triangular patch on each side of her nose ;
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 37 
 
 moreover, to-day, as if to farther mar matters, 
 the girl had a little sore place at the side of her 
 mouth. Mrs. Sinclair sighed. He could not pro- 
 pose to her. Though undoubtedly he wanted 
 Gillette's money, even the girl's mother trembled 
 for fear that he might find the included owner a 
 little too disheartening for his courage. 
 
 Gillette meanwhile stood patiently enduring the 
 unflattering inspection. It did not exhilarate her 
 spirits, and she prayed silently for help to sup- 
 press the desires of unholiness. 
 
 "My dear," continued Mrs. Sinclair, after a 
 pause, rustling with a crisp frou-frou of silk up 
 to the looking-glass, "is there really anything 
 wrong in a flowered muslin and a big hat? It 
 would be so much more becoming, and, really, 
 it seems a little inconsiderate of God to oblige 
 you to dress so stuffily, when He has sent weather 
 'ot enough to burn a salamander. Besides, He 
 must be aware that Mr. Spenser is human, and " 
 
 "Mother, dear mother, please!" 
 
 Gillette went up to the elaborately dressed little 
 woman and laid her cheek softly against the 
 other's. 
 
 "For goodness' sake, child, don't rub off all 
 the powder. I shall shine like a glass if you do. 
 Are you sure I don't want any more?" 
 
 To make certain, Mrs. Sinclair took a flat silver 
 powder-box from her pocket and repowdered the 
 ruffled cheek. Gillette smiled gently, but she was 
 thinking for once almost sadly of the Biblical 
 lines by which her apparel was ordered. Instinct 
 cried out irrepressibly at this period toward all
 
 38 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 attractive raiment. But in the Bible it was writ- 
 ten: "In like manner also, that women adorn 
 themselves in modest apparel, with shamefaced- 
 ness and sobriety; not with broidered hair, or 
 gold, or pearls, or costly array." 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair, meanwhile having restored the 
 possible havoc made by Gillette's caress, turned 
 round again to her daughter. 
 
 "Dearie, my chip hat with the black feathers 
 black feathers, mind, so suitable and unworldly 
 won't you let me lend it to you? Mr. Spenser 
 said, the other day, nothing was so sensible and 
 becoming this weather as a large hat. I don't 
 want to persuade you to do anything against 
 your conscience ; I am the last person to do that. 
 But a sailor hat! I saw the kitchen-maid going 
 out of the area-gate last Sunday in one ; and my 
 hat is so quiet, so really spiritual. Plain black 
 feathers nothing could be more serious. Why, 
 they put them on the horses' heads for a funeral, 
 and there can't very -well be anything worldly 
 about a funeral." 
 
 This time it was Mrs. Sinclair who made the 
 overtures of peace. She sidled up to her daughter 
 and drew her white-gloved fingers caressingly up 
 and down the blue alpaca sleeve. But the spirit- 
 uality of the black feathers had proved too much 
 for Gillette's gravity. She was laughing frankly. 
 
 "Dear mother," she said, "let us go. You shall 
 attract Mr. Spenser, and I will smile approval. 
 Come, you know I am hopeless, but, because you 
 are a dear little mother, you have promised to 
 love me just the same."
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 39 
 
 "My dear, you are lovable enough. That's not 
 the point, unfortunately. You've got to be at- 
 tractive outside to marry, and you've got to 
 have a touch of the devil. Only a touch, mind ; 
 but that touch, don't it tell, that's all! And I 
 ought to know. How did I get two husbands, 
 keep them, and be pestered ever since to take an- 
 other? Attention to appearance and that pinch 
 of spice, as I call it. Oh, Gillette, Gillette, if you 
 weren't so religious what a lot I could do for 
 
 you 
 
 i" 
 
 This time Gillette made no effort to reply, but, 
 slipping her arm through her mother's, drew her 
 from the simplicity of her own room to the abun- 
 dant luxury of the hall and staircase. It occurred 
 to her as they went down-stairs, though the 
 thought was destitute of malice, that perhaps 
 both she and her mother were equally unsuitably 
 gowned. Mrs. Sinclair, for a quiet day in the 
 country, was wearing a striped silk dress she had 
 last worn at a large garden-party; cerise velvet 
 with paste buttons encircled the waist and throat, 
 and a large diamond star flashed upon the bodice 
 beneath a magnificent pearl necklace ; on her head 
 she had a pink chiffon toque, turned up sharply 
 on one side to show a quantity of waved gold 
 hair, of a gold impertinent as a stare in its un- 
 changing fixity of tone. Her face, round like her 
 daughter's, though on a smaller scale, was im- 
 pertinent-looking also. Fortunately, it was a 
 sauciness full of adventure a recklessness embed- 
 ded deep in comic perceptions. Mrs. Sinclair, in 
 fact, had the face of a comedienne, a laugher, a
 
 40 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 good-natured, good-hearted bon-viveur, anxious 
 both to live and let live without sourness, with- 
 out rancor, without condemnation. The round 
 eyes formed a myriad wrinkles, but humorous, 
 cheer-producing wrinkles come less, it would 
 seem, by age than by too much laughing. It 
 was a frankly plebeian but equally frankly genial- 
 hearted face, and this, moreover, in spite of a 
 flagrant excess of paint and powder, and a depth 
 of gold fringe sufficient to divide among a dozen 
 frugal-minded people. 
 
 She dangled from one hand a cerise chiffon sun- 
 shade, while little house-slippers peeped from the 
 dainty feet. When Gillette's inspection travelled 
 as far down as her mother's feet, a vague con- 
 fusion troubled her. She recalled with a familiar 
 pang that those pretty little feet had once danced 
 skirtless in a small music-hall in Liverpool. But 
 at the same time she compared the flat uncouth- 
 ness of her own inherited, she understood, from 
 her father with the expressiveness of these others, 
 stepping now always as if too fragile to support 
 the round, trim, small-waisted figure above. Gil- 
 lette did not in words regret the almost flat-soled 
 nature of her own, for passionately and sincerely 
 she realized the desire for physical beauty to be 
 often only a snare to diminish one's desires for 
 the more inward and spiritual loveliness. But 
 she could not always still the natural clamor ot 
 youth, with its pagan needs. Feet like her moth- 
 er's were easy to love. Gillette sighed silently as 
 she followed her into the landau to drive to Vic- 
 toria Station.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 41 
 
 It was Mrs. Sinclair who sustained the greater 
 share of conversation during the hour's train jour- 
 ney from London. Gillette leaned against the 
 back of her seat, and stared at the sun-bathed 
 country outside, while her mother babbled of 
 their host's matrimonial intentions, repeating in- 
 cessantly the good fortune it was for Gillette to 
 be loved by a man so entirely above their usual 
 intimates. Mrs. Sinclair was frank, and stated 
 plainly that the girl, for all her thousands, was 
 heavily handicapped in the choice of a life com- 
 panion. 
 
 "Me and you both being plain is a piece of bad 
 luck," she remarked candidly. "Men like me right 
 enough you can take that from me but the one 
 thing they don't cotton to me as is as a mother- 
 in-law. You don't want to be amused by your 
 mother-in-law, and you don't want to make love 
 to her. You just want her to look tip-top, and 
 that's exactly what I don't do I look fetching." 
 
 She laughed loudly, but not unmusically. Gil- 
 lette's eyes watered. It was not the aspersion 
 cast upon her own looks that troubled her, but 
 her mother's reflection upon herself as a mother- 
 in-law. She was so dearly loved, this inconse- 
 quent little woman, with her immediate outflow 
 of every thought formulating below the brazen 
 head of curls, that it was like a shower of goads 
 when she depreciated herself in any fashion. Be- 
 sides, talk such as this stirred the seldom wholly 
 slumbering uneasiness as to the opinion God 
 might hold of Gillette's mother. 
 
 Up to this period one of the deepest troubles
 
 42 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 of the girl's life had been the paganism of her 
 mother's desires and life. It not only rendered 
 any real communication of nature impossible be- 
 tween them, but terrified the girl -with doubts of 
 the after-verdict to be passed on a soul so gid- 
 dily engrossed by the pleasures of this earth only; 
 for the atmosphere of heaven was love. Only 
 because she knew herself so deeply to love her 
 God, so truly to yearn after the full sweet light 
 in which righteousness would be as clear as 
 beams in sunlight, did Gillette herself hope for 
 salvation. There had been times, indeed, when 
 terror for the eternal welfare of her joy-loving 
 mother had bruised the girl's thoughts, and again 
 and again she passed nights in a deliberate vigil 
 of prayer for the soul that had no spiritual de- 
 sire or cares for itself. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair, meanwhile, was beginning to re- 
 gret an unstrategic display of eagerness for this 
 marriage. Asked point-blank whether she in- 
 tended accepting George Spenser, Gillette had re- 
 plied uncomfortably that the question distressed 
 her, and that her mother might be quite mis- 
 taken as to the other's intentions. Mrs. Sinclair's 
 mental response had been to the effect that she 
 was no fool where men were concerned, and 
 that if ever a man needed to marry money it 
 was George Spenser. Gillette's money, moreover, 
 was all her own, Mr. Whittacker's fortune passing 
 entirely to the child in case of the wife's remar- 
 riage, a circumstance, however, very little affect- 
 ing the latter, whose second husband had pos- 
 sessed a fortune almost as large as that of her first.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 43 
 
 As they journeyed, Mrs. Sinclair's heart posi- 
 tively thumped in her breast with longing for the 
 lustre of this marriage -with a man backed un- 
 mistakably by genteelly nurtured ancestors. But 
 looking every now and then across at her daugh- 
 ter, she became oppressed by a feeling of obstruc- 
 tion. There was a wistfulness about the girl's 
 expression that bothered her mother. It forced 
 upon her the apprehension that there were na- 
 tures which could not be satisfied with the tan- 
 gible merely. Mrs. Sinclair was aware that she 
 had limitations of nature which rendered the 
 temperament of her own daughter incomprehens- 
 ible to her. It was a circumstance that fre- 
 quently depressed her to-day more than ordi- 
 narily for, after a life replete with experiences, 
 Mrs. Sinclair felt that, taking life such as it was, 
 Gillette ought to regard this marriage as a god- 
 send. The girl would have nothing to say to 
 the men of her mother's set, chiefly financiers, 
 Jews, and wholesale business people. They were 
 good enough for Mrs. Sinclair. Until her mar- 
 riage she had mixed with worse than these, but 
 Gillette was tongue-tied before them, and when 
 any of them proposed, seized by lust of the money 
 they all saw floating perpetually round her per- 
 son, refused them with horror-stricken swiftness. 
 Yet now a man of refinement and position stepped 
 into the noisy atmosphere, there was no access 
 of triumphal content. Still more seemed wanted, 
 apparently, for this insatiable disposition, so 
 humble in everything else. Mrs. Sinclair grew de- 
 pressed. The child had no philosophy; she was
 
 4A THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 all heart and sentiment, stretching out hands 
 none would fill for this bubble love this chimera 
 that, without elasticity, one had but to grip to 
 burst. True, it was hard to be denied it for a 
 surface misfortune, for the chance that flung one 
 into the tragic circumstance of womanhood, un- 
 comforted by a youth of attractiveness. 
 
 Well, suppose the worst happened, and the girl 
 were an old maid? Mrs. Sinclair shuddered ; she 
 could not conceive a greater tragedy. Life with- 
 out a man was intolerable. At the thought she 
 returned to the subject of her own love affairs, 
 and to the question as to which of the present 
 aspirants should become the partner of her final 
 years. 
 
 Gillette, meanwhile, searched her heart pain- 
 fully to find the -way of holiness. For the first 
 time she felt herself loved, and, oh, the sweetness 
 of it, the intoxication ! It -was always the charm 
 of her quiet and gentle personality Spenser harped 
 upon, and it had a power to carry conviction no 
 other admirer's rhapsodies had done. Theirs cari- 
 catured her with ill-selected lies ; this might, after 
 all, be true. Gillette had seen frequently enough 
 the inexplainable appeal one nature can have for 
 another. Humility could remain intact, while 
 yet one trod on rose-leaves, with their perfume 
 rising like incense to one's nostrils. 
 
 She was wearied by the time the train drew up 
 to the station, and for all her week's heart-prob- 
 ings, for all her nights of prayer, was obliged to 
 leave the words of answer to the whisper she 
 must strive to hear from God at the last moment.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 George Spenser met them at the station, and 
 they drove in an open fly to the house. During 
 the drive Gillette felt herself constantly deferred 
 to. She -was conscious also that he said "Miss 
 Whittacker" with a different intonation to that 
 which he used in addressing her mother, and 
 though she could not completely lose the impres- 
 sion of a face undeviatingly cold, she found it 
 easy to attribute his stern appearance to the re- 
 peated disasters of his past life his ill-health, his 
 broken army career, his unexpected poverty. And 
 every time that he turned deferentially for her 
 opinion, an unknown tremor coursed through her 
 body. 
 
 When they descended at the steps of the house, 
 Mrs. Sinclair was assisted first. As he then held 
 out a hand to the girl, Spenser bent forward and 
 said under his breath: 
 
 "Welcome, little leader." 
 
 Gillette's hand trembled as it dropped into his. 
 When he had last called, more than a week ago, 
 they had tentatively approached the subject of 
 religion. It had proved an abortive attempt, the 
 girl stammering with inability to utter thoughts 
 so sacred and inward. But as they passed from 
 it, Spenser had said that it was by the gracious 
 influence of good women that men came usually 
 to see the force and beauty of religion, adding,
 
 46 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 by way of advantageously closing the discus- 
 sion: 
 
 "You little leader, how sweet you could make 
 it to try and follow in your path!" 
 
 Evidently the remark had been no trivial utter- 
 ance, forgotten in the saying. In his thoughts it 
 continued, since now again he called her "little 
 leader." 
 
 Gillette entered the house with a prayer upon 
 her lips that she might indeed be the humble 
 guide of this man into the love of Christ and his 
 fellow-beings, and with below her prayers a swirl- 
 ing mass of strange and confused emotions. 
 
 During the inspection of the house, however, 
 shyness wrecked all attempt at good manners in 
 her. Both the man and her mother appeared to 
 make frankly clear that she was asked to look 
 at everything with the eyes of an approaching 
 bride. When they came into the rose-chintz bed- 
 room, embowered still in the flowers of yesterday, 
 her confusion was painfully visible. She was 
 shown, while her cheeks burned, the charming 
 view out of the large windows, the Annunciation 
 by an unknown artist on the wall, the small 
 powder-room that opened out of the larger apart- 
 ment, so admirable for use either as a gigantic 
 wardrobe or a little private bathroom. Then, 
 as she separated herself from her mother, and 
 from excess of nervous pain went over to the 
 flowers on the dressing-table, Spenser came up 
 to her. Too low to be overheard by Mrs. Sin- 
 clair, still in the small powder-chamber, he said to 
 Gillette, with an intonation full of meaning :
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 47 
 
 "It struck me the other day that with a prie- 
 dien and one's Annunciation it would make a 
 beautiful praying-room. More withdrawn and 
 godly than one's sleeping and dressing room. 
 Don't you think so, too, dear friend?" 
 
 Gillette's color deepened pitiably, while she 
 stood silent, lacking the rapidity of thought to 
 make an easy answer. He turned, therefore, tact- 
 fully once more to her mother, leaving the girl 
 for a few minutes to recover self-possession. She 
 regained it somewhat when they left the house 
 for the garden. In the open air she breathed 
 more freely, less oppressed by a sense of being 
 driven by almost indelicate pressure to a prema- 
 ture decision. Yet confidence had been stimulated 
 once during their tour through the building. 
 Spenser did not omit to show his own small bed- 
 room. They had been allowed to look through 
 the opened door. Like her own, it was evidently 
 from choice, for there were bedrooms in plenty 
 to choose from, small and barely furnished. It 
 contained only a camp-bed, and a barrack chest 
 of drawers and furniture. There was no litter 
 of women's photographs nothing but a shelf of 
 books and a copy of a Boticelli Madonna and 
 Child. Unaware that the picture had been placed 
 in its present position that morning, Gillette lin- 
 gered tenderly upon its signification in his room. 
 Undoubtedly he was at least a man drawn to 
 delicate and beautiful things. 
 
 In the garden lunch was waiting for them under 
 the trees where it had been laid the day before. 
 The man Temple was still busy carrying out
 
 48 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 plates and dishes when they walked up to it, 
 and Gillette seated herself temporarily in the ham- 
 mock, swinging awkwardly backward and for- 
 ward. 
 
 "You will be more comfortable here, Miss Whit- 
 tacker. An arm-chair is the thing for a day like 
 this" ; and George Spenser -walked up to the ham- 
 mock and held out his hand to assist her. 
 
 "I am quite comfortable," replied Gillette, un- 
 comfortably, but she took the chair he indicated. 
 
 George Spenser then sat down in the hammock 
 himself, a curious expression of triumph, unseen 
 by the girl, passing over his face. He was, in- 
 deed, seized with an immense desire to laugh un- 
 controllably. For, as Gillette, seated herself op- 
 posite to him in the hammock, he had recalled 
 with the clearness almost of vision, Ellice in a 
 leghorn and rose-trimmed hat, swinging in the 
 same place, and laughing at him with her white 
 teeth showing. His nerves had not the strength 
 to endure the contrast. This ugly creature must 
 be removed before his exasperation found vent 
 in some preposterous outburst. Once in the ham- 
 mock, he smiled contemptuously at his own in- 
 anity. But the relief, nevertheless, of having the 
 other no longer there, was almost physical. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair, meanwhile, had commenced to 
 prepare for lunch, hovering about the table like 
 a bee about a bush of honeysuckle. 
 
 "Four places!" she exclaimed suddenly, in her 
 loud but not unpleasing voice. "Are you expect- 
 ing any one else, Mr. Spenser?" 
 
 "Only a man to make the fourth, Mrs. Sinclair,
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 49 
 
 and in the fear that you two ladies might be 
 bored with my poor society. Mr. Crawford, who 
 lives in the little white house you admired so 
 much on the way here, is going to join us, with 
 your permission." 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair looked at him for a moment with 
 a perplexed expression. Then suddenly her face 
 cleared again, and she beamed comprehendingly. 
 
 "Charming charming, I'm sure. Four is so 
 convenient I mean, such good company. Is he 
 coming soon? for I am actually hungry; yes, I 
 am, though I know one oughtn't to be this 
 weather. But there, your lunch do look so invit- 
 ing! I shall take off my gloves to be ready." 
 
 She did so, after giving a meaning look to her 
 host. Of course he wanted a fourth. How clever 
 of him to have thought of it ! He could not pro- 
 pose to Gillette plump out in the presence of her 
 mother, and to entice the girl away and leave 
 the elder woman would have been scarcely gen- 
 teel. They had to wait, however, a little while 
 before the fourth guest appeared, and during the 
 interval George Spenser grew to regret as a piece 
 of thoughtlessness his arrangement of lunching 
 in the same place as the day before. 
 
 Ellice haunted it, with a mocking smile on her 
 fresh pink lips, and a mocking bow at the side 
 of her cheek. And her constant presence in his 
 mind sharpened the hopeless plebeianism of the girl 
 who now sat in her place. How on earth he could 
 propose with sufficient ardor to humbug her 
 began seriously to disconcert him. Really, he had 
 forgotten how impossible-looking she was, a dairy 
 4
 
 50 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 maid without a dairy maid's ease and vitality. 
 The broad set figure was there, the round red 
 face, but not the extenuating cotton gown, the 
 upturned sleeves, the hearty movements of plump, 
 firm arms. Good Lord ! he told himself fretfully, 
 a dairy maid would have been preferable. She 
 would, at least, have warmed his heart by a 
 healthy, brainless zest of life. This great fat girl 
 only aggravated with her timid, anaemic man- 
 ners, her incongruous gravity of mind. Sitting 
 exactly opposite to her, he had ample oppor- 
 tunity for observation, and he made none that 
 did not stir unjustified resentment. Her sailor 
 hat, the sore place near her mouth, her unbecom- 
 ing gown, the way she placed her feet a little 
 apart upon the lawn all equally offended him. He 
 felt, as he looked, that for the first time in life 
 he could sympathize with the futile tears of 
 women. And yesterday's contention had some- 
 how upset him. He had passed a bad night, 
 been prey to a touch of fever, and to-day de- 
 sired nothing so much as to sit limply and be 
 addressed by nobody. To open his lips implied 
 effort. And to-day of all days he had to propose 
 to this appalling woman, and be prepared besides 
 to tread under-foot an unknown quantity of mad- 
 dening religious objections. 
 
 Not to be beaten by ignorance, he had read 
 through the Marriage Service before her arrival, 
 and felt fairly grounded in the Biblical notions 
 on the subject; but the intolerable fatigue of it 
 made him weary in advance. As he sat there 
 waiting for his friend Crawford, he experienced
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 51 
 
 an acute sense of doing the whole thing with an 
 imbecile lack of motive. He could not lay hold 
 of a single vestige of his old craving for money, 
 and the girl opposite was quite the most repul- 
 sive he could have selected. It seemed as if, out 
 of the cussedness of fate, all his primary hanker- 
 ing after luxurious living had suddenly expired 
 in him, and he was proposing somnolently, for 
 no reason at all, except that he had once arranged 
 to do so. 
 
 Mr. Crawford's arrival was a relief to them all. 
 Mrs. Sinclair instantly took a fancy to him, and 
 the ceaseless chatter he maintained at her provo- 
 cation relieved Gillette from her uncomfortable 
 sense of being the centre of attention, and Spen- 
 ser from having perpetually to drag conversation 
 again from the impassS her social stupidity drove 
 it into. 
 
 Sidney Crawford meanwhile slowly recovered 
 from the shock caused by the discovery of the 
 kind of ladies he had been asked to help enter- 
 tain. George Spenser was the last man he would 
 have expected to be amused by golden-haired 
 women, with dubious intonations, and a breath- 
 catching license of conversation. As for Gillette, 
 she amazed him more than the other. What she 
 was doing there passed his comprehension; for 
 if the mother was common, she was at least 
 amusing, and that certainly the daughter could 
 not well by any stretch of imagination be called. 
 She ate practically nothing from self-conscious- 
 ness Crawford concluded and when spoken to, 
 her eyes fluttered helplessly toward any place
 
 52 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 save toward the person who addressed her. 
 Though the rest were drinking freely of champagne, 
 she drank water only, and toward the end of 
 luncheon Crawford became so genuinely sorry 
 for her that he ceased to enjoy his own meal. 
 Poor little girl! he thought, how miserable she 
 looked! And she -was evidently a good sort. 
 She had benign gray eyes, and her mouth was 
 really rather sweet. Only the tout-ensemble was 
 so awful the figure, the manners, the dress. 
 Once again, glancing sympathetically in her di- 
 rection, Crawford asked himself inwardly what 
 the devil these two extraordinary women were 
 doing here. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair, however, amused him inordi- 
 nately. His presence was the stimulation she 
 needed. To be -with a man, and not exert herself 
 to fascinate, remained beyond Mrs. Sinclair's ca- 
 pacity. And no woman knew better wherein 
 her own strength lay. All her citadels had been 
 taken by storm, by audacity, by an almost out- 
 rageous courage. Mr. Crawford consequently 
 laughed from the beginning of the meal to the 
 end, and terminated half of opinion that his 
 neighbor had succumbed to the undeniable orig- 
 inalities of this spontaneous vulgarian. The thing 
 was possible. Spenser suffered constantly from 
 the blues, and this semi-clever farceuse would 
 cure the blues forever. Crawford himself, how- 
 ever, proved unusually stimulating to Mrs. Sin- 
 clair. His appearance alone was singularly in 
 favor of risible expectations. Six foot three and 
 immensely broad, he was also immensely and
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 53 
 
 loosely fat. His face was round like a schoolboy's, 
 and, similarly to Mrs. Sinclair's own, every line 
 on it indicated habits of carelessness and good- 
 humor. 
 
 Healthily red from a life spent much in the open 
 air, his whole physiognomy breathed out a tem- 
 perament unruffled by the ordinary breezes of life, 
 and naturally and fundamentally optimistic. Ow- 
 ing to the shortness of his full neck, he wore a 
 turned-down Oxford collar, but except for that 
 dressed with rigid adherence to the fashion. His 
 fair hair was straight and sleek, his expression in 
 repose, pleasant and childlike. The unwieldiness 
 of his person, and the ceaseless predicaments it 
 placed him in owing to the present taste for care- 
 lessly made furniture, was his most constant 
 joke. During their lunch he protested more than 
 once against his insecurity upon a flimsy and 
 ominously creaking wicker chair. The heat also 
 genuinely troubled him, and he fanned himself in- 
 cessantly with a palm-leaf fan he had brought 
 from his own dwelling. The perspiration, how- 
 ever, never ceased to lie upon his forehead, and 
 at last, when Mrs. Sinclair's appetite was satis- 
 factorily appeased, and they pushed their chairs 
 back from the white painted table, he got up 
 heavily, and rivalled the sans-gene of Gillette's 
 mother herself. 
 
 "Ladies, be merciful upon me, a sinner, and do 
 not put down my actions to vanity. But I was 
 not arranged for heat like this, and it handles 
 me a little roughly." 
 
 As he spoke he did what Mrs. Sinclair was
 
 54 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 longing to have the courage to do. He took a 
 small powder-box from his pocket, and carefully 
 powdered his shining, rubicund face. Having 
 done so, he wiped it with a handkerchief, and 
 subsided into his chair again with a sigh of com- 
 fort. 
 
 Spenser meanwhile was debating what spot in 
 the house or grounds he should select for the 
 momentous question. The rose-garden, one dewy 
 outburst of pink and crimson, and perfumed like 
 Ellice's breath, was the proper place undoubtedly. 
 But Ellice had walked there the day before, and 
 he put it down as a fresh sign of the mental sick- 
 liness engendered by his physical ill-health, that 
 he simply could not bring himself to associate this 
 caricature of womanhood -with the spot enriched 
 by the other's radiant beauty. At the side of the 
 stream running at the back of the house they 
 would be safe from observation; but as soon as 
 the place rose in his mind there rose also the 
 same objection to it. Ellice had knelt and dab- 
 bled her warm hands in its silvery waters, while 
 the reflection of her head had fallen into its shal- 
 low depths in a charming blur of rose color. 
 Besides, it was like Ellice herself fresh, revivify- 
 ing, musical. Finally he selected the library. It 
 had a musty odor, and breathed out a plethoric 
 dulness admirably in harmony with its future 
 mistress. He pulled himself together then for the 
 ordeal, with a distaste quite beyond anything he 
 had expected. 
 
 "Miss Whittacker, are you too hot for a stroll? 
 I have not shown my books to you yet."
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 56 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair gave a sigh of relief, and com- 
 menced instantly to talk overload to Sidney 
 Crawford. For the last ten minutes she had been 
 waiting impatiently for some such promising sug- 
 gestion. It was quite time it came, she felt, since 
 the afternoon could hardly be expected to prove 
 elastic in order to gratify George Spenser's con- 
 venience. 
 
 Gillette, however, trembled at the request. In- 
 tuition murmured what it probably preluded, 
 and an unreasoned terror coursed through her 
 limbs. For a minute she felt a physical inca- 
 pacity to rise from her seat, and she answered 
 him by a look of involuntary appeal. 
 
 Spenser realized reluctance, and guessed it to 
 come from indecision as to what reply to make 
 to his petition. He went round the table to her 
 seat with a passing feeling of admiration for her, 
 she was so utterly sincere and conscientious, so 
 completely undazzled by the age of the place he 
 offered. More than once, indeed, lately he had 
 confronted thoughts of a strange and simple 
 beauty, lying behind the unpleasing physiognomy. 
 Unfortunately, they were inadequate to wring 
 more than a grudging recognition, and more than 
 once had merely caused him to reflect, how much 
 more gracefulness Ellice would have wrenched 
 out of a similar conception. For once, however, 
 he acknowledged, almost with a feeling of kind- 
 liness, that she had a temperament maligned by 
 superficial acquaintance. 
 
 "Come, dear friend, we cannot talk here, and I 
 have much to say to you,". he whispered, -with
 
 56 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 as much eagerness as he could, standing in front 
 of her chair in order to have his back to Mrs. 
 Sinclair. 
 
 Gillette got up, with heart-beats that made her 
 bodice creak. As for speech, she was incapable of 
 it, and walked beside him to the house meek as 
 some lamb and mute as a terrified child. But 
 she felt the sun's fierce glow scorch her with un- 
 answerable love phrases, and she saw the flow- 
 ers they passed laying bare for her a beauty she 
 had never perceived in them before. A trembling 
 desire seized her, as they passed a bush of roses 
 near the house, to take the glowing blossoms 
 and press them senselessly against her breast, 
 that they might crush out the trouble leaping 
 and quivering within it. She tried to pray, but 
 her soul was chaos ; all that rose to her lips were 
 the words, "Our Father which art in heaven." 
 
 Still in meek silence she followed the other into 
 the house. When they had -withdrawn out of ear- 
 shot of Mrs. Sinclair and Sidney Crawford, Spen- 
 ser had leant slightly toward her. 
 
 "I want you to myself a little, you restful, quiet 
 girl. Let us go into the cool of the house, Gil- 
 lette." 
 
 It was the first time that he had called her by 
 her Christian name. So strange a sense of giddi- 
 ness affected her at the sound that she wondered 
 for a moment if she were ill. It passed, but at a 
 word she would have fallen without resistance 
 into his arms. Spenser, however, having pre- 
 pared his way, did not trouble to make further 
 efforts, and the silence of both was equal. But
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 57 
 
 they had no sooner entered the sombre library 
 than he closed the door and went quickly to her 
 side. Gillette had retreated to the further win- 
 dow, and stared out of it, while she made one 
 final effort to reconquer clearness of intelligence. 
 If her limbs stood firm, her brain certainly reeled 
 uselessly in her head. She knew nothing, under- 
 stood nothing, except a confusion whose sweet- 
 ness alarmed and disquieted her. 
 
 "Miss Whittacker Gillette are you going to 
 have pity upon me? I am absolutely unworthy 
 to breathe the air about you, but your goodness 
 is an overpowering influence, and binds one like 
 the meshes of a net. I love you! Your nature 
 awes me with its beauty. I want to be always 
 in contact with you. Gillette, will you lead me 
 for the future, or must I end my days in miser- 
 able heathenism? for no other woman could re- 
 place you. Don't you see, you are unique. Once 
 to love you, Gillette, is to have your impress 
 graven in one's disposition forever." 
 
 He could have groaned with disgust as he 
 spoke. Involuntarily the ignobleness of his own 
 attitude chafed him, for below his personal dis- 
 taste to Gillette existed a growing conviction 
 that she deserved fine treatment. Her very low- 
 liness and sincerity should have disarmed duplic- 
 ity. And he knew perfectly well that his careful 
 rejection of any reference to outward beauty was 
 the strongest method of obtaining credulity he 
 could employ. 
 
 She did not answer immediately. He saw 
 phrases stammer to her lips and die unuttered,
 
 58 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 either from fear or indecision. But he felt the 
 passionate charm he exercised, and was not un- 
 easy as to the ultimate result of the contest. 
 What he dreaded was the accumulated nausea of 
 his own tissue of lying phrases. 
 
 At last, however, the silence commenced to bore 
 him. 
 
 "Gillette," he said again, as a wedge to force 
 speech, but at the same moment unable to sup- 
 press a sense of the grotesqueness of proposing 
 to a creature with a wisp of straight hair drawn 
 back from an unsoftened forehead. Frankly, there 
 was something almost immodest in unveiled tem- 
 ples and ears exposed in their entirety. 
 
 "Mr. Spenser, I am sorry if you love me, be- 
 cause I cannot decide whether it is right for me 
 to marry." 
 
 "Why, dear little girl, why? You torture me. 
 Gillette, love suffers so in its suspense. Let me 
 know your fears, that I may conquer them. As 
 for love, I have enough for two." 
 
 Still the girl fought for clearness and calm, still 
 struggled to find a prayer for guidance. She could 
 remember of all the Bible passages on marriage 
 only two, and these two were so enticing she 
 trembled to find them the only ones arisen in her 
 mind: "For the unbelieving husband is sancti- 
 fied by his wife," and "What knowest thou, wife, 
 whether thou shalt save thy husband?" 
 
 "I am so ugly and stupid," she stammered at 
 last, "and I should perhaps irritate you with my 
 beliefs. I cannot talk. Even what I think I find 
 difficulty in putting into words. And you see,
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 59 
 
 even for you, I could not do certain things that 
 to me seem wrong. I cannot go to thaetres, or 
 dances, or big parties -where a great deal is spent. 
 I cannot wear low dresses or entertain extrava- 
 gantly. Perhaps this would vex you. It seems 
 foolish to any one who does not feel as I do." 
 
 Her voice fell at the end plaintively like a leaf 
 fallen prematurely; but her brain had to some 
 extent emerged from its heaviness. She felt keenly 
 again that their mental worlds could never co- 
 alesce. 
 
 Spenser listened with admirable gravity ; he was 
 not altogether unmoved, even. Transiently, her 
 immense denials fascinated him. The constant 
 strength of purpose her convictions necessitated 
 implied a force sympathetic to him. 
 
 "Dearest, I have no wish to thwart you in the 
 smallest thing. I love you to a great extent be- 
 cause of your religion. You shall go to no party 
 you do not want to, give none against your will. 
 As for this preposterous talk of stupidity, why, 
 you are full of thought and intelligence. I detest 
 the inane conversation made for conversation's 
 sake ; I am no great talker myself, dearest. As to 
 your looks, I love them. Besides, a certain Gil- 
 lette what a dear, funny name it is, tool has 
 eyes so beautiful they sink into one's soul." 
 
 He saw her sway slightly, and her gaze become 
 fixed, as if mesmerized by his own. To the girl 
 herself it seemed that, if she could only get away 
 from him, she might more easily resteep her mind 
 in thoughts of holiness. Her desires rushed all 
 toward a swift consent; her religion knew not
 
 60 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 clearly what to say, and instinct hung back du- 
 bious and lethargic. All this heavy sweetness 
 weighing upon her could not last. After it was 
 there a close enough sympathy for peace? She 
 knew him too little ; practically, his character was 
 but surmised by her. He loved reading, he was 
 often ill, he talked of current topics with a tinge 
 of seriousness, harmonizing with her own earnest 
 outlook upon all things. His interest also in her 
 work among the poor was unflagging. All his 
 impulses, Gillette told herself, were noble, like ten- 
 tative steps toward the light. Oh, if God would 
 but make her the lowly means of bringing him 
 to see the only peace that is in truth "past 
 all understanding!" Suddenly she saw herself, 
 through a refusal of George Spenser, deliberately 
 turning away from the work God selected her to 
 do. For was it not little less than a miracle to 
 be loved at last, she, so ungainly and unlovable? 
 And had he not said that to see another striving 
 after the ways of Christ was to constrain a de- 
 sire to follow in the same footsteps? 
 
 "If you were sure I could help you if " 
 
 Spenser waited a second, apparently for the 
 completion of the halting sentence, in reality for 
 strength of purpose. Then suddenly he drew her 
 with some force into his arms and kissed her sev- 
 eral times.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 They came out on to the lawn about half an 
 hour later, feeling almost equally uncomfortable. 
 Gillette's discomfort rose from a reluctance to 
 carry her timid new happiness into the intrusive 
 presence of her mother, Spenser's merely from 
 distaste at having sooner or later to make pub- 
 lic the choice of wife he had made. He pondered 
 weakly, as they left the library, the possibility of 
 going abroad from the announcement of the en- 
 gagement until the day of the wedding. Gillette 
 could be told that he was ill. 
 
 They found Mrs. Sinclair convulsed with laugh- 
 ter as they approached. She had seated herself 
 in the hammock, one little foot dangling to re- 
 veal a beautiful ankle. Crawford was sitting 
 facing her on the table, and the helpless move- 
 ments of his fat shoulders showed him to be 
 chuckling likewise. Gillette no longer wore her 
 hat. Spenser, feeling unable to support its pres- 
 ence any longer, had supplicated for its removal, 
 on the plea of desiring to see the soft brown hair 
 that covered the head he adored. Gillette, with 
 instant docility, had removed her headgear, but 
 as she came toward the other two, and saw her 
 mother's piercing look of inquiry, she flushed with 
 painful self-consciousness, and felt as if culpable 
 of some grave impropriety. 
 
 Spenser observed equally Mrs. Sinclair's instant
 
 62 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 attentive cessation of chatter. For a second he 
 contemplated blurting out the engagement then 
 and there. Upon reflection, however, he decided 
 it might be better to withdraw the anxious lady, 
 and ask her consent in private. It was agonizing 
 to contemplate another tete-a-tete on the same 
 appalling subject; but, after all, Mrs. Sinclair 
 would be easier to deal with than the other. 
 
 "Mrs. Sinclair, will you come for a little walk 
 now? Miss Whittacker wants to rest, and it is 
 really quite comparatively cool." 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair assented with a haste and flurry 
 that puzzled Crawford. He had already grown 
 conscious that he had been asked to assist at 
 some more or less domestic drama. The lady 
 had laughed at him, with one eye always turned 
 toward the house. She had made ridiculous con- 
 versation \vith a large share of her mind disen- 
 gaged from the things she said. Was she jealous 
 of her poor dull daughter? From her talk Craw- 
 ford had discovered that she was rich. She had 
 already asked him to join a party going from her 
 house on the river to Molesey Regatta on the 
 following Saturday, and had referred, in passing, 
 to her steam-launch and carriages. For one brief 
 second of time Crawford asked himself whether 
 Spenser had designs upon this probable fortune, 
 since that there was something on foot between 
 the three he became convinced, when, on the re- 
 appearance of Gillette and Spenser, the latter 
 immediately withdrew again with his amusing 
 companion, leaving him to entertain the visibly 
 disturbed younger woman.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 63 
 
 It took a good deal to disturb Crawford. He 
 prognosticated now that conversation would be 
 neither fluent nor gratifying, but it was the affair 
 of half an hour only, and he had a vague desire 
 to find out what filled the head of this quite un- 
 known species of the sex. 
 
 She, like her mother, went and sat down in the 
 hammock, and then, by way of saying something, 
 remarked that the heat was intense. 
 
 "It is," replied Crawford genially "far too in- 
 tense for such as me; for the worst of it is, I 
 appear to melt visibly, and, notwithstanding, re- 
 main an invariable nineteen stone. Let me lend 
 you my fan," he continued pleasantly. "I go to 
 bed with one now, and when I wake up in the 
 night fan myself to sleep again. Don't you find 
 town awful? and your mother tells me you are 
 out every evening. How can you, and survive?" 
 
 "My mother meant that she went out every 
 night, not I," replied Gillette, crimsoning afresh. 
 
 "Is it too hot for you? Have you, like me, 
 succumbed to circumstances, and tabooed both 
 parties and theatres for the present?" 
 
 Gillette always suffered -when forced to speak 
 of her religious convictions. They were enwrapped 
 in feelings so deep, much had to be torn apart to 
 let them struggle to the surface. 
 
 "I do not go to parties or theatres at any time. 
 To me it seems better that one should not," she 
 said, pausing, as usual, between every few words. 
 It was a habit with her, due partly to humility, 
 and partly to years of mental isolation from the 
 majority. Simple as were her thoughts, Gillette
 
 64 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 never knew when they would not be rejected as 
 incomprehensible. 
 
 As for Crawford, he received the above state- 
 ment with a sense of stupefaction. So she had the 
 religious mania, poor soul ! It was impossible to 
 have anything worse or more depressing. He 
 looked at her compassionately, and observed, 
 now that she wore no hat, that she revealed a 
 beautiful, serene forehead. Oh, but she was so 
 red, and her hands, that she never seemed to 
 know what to do with, were so red, too. How- 
 ever, her remark attracted him; he became curi- 
 ous to know the extent of her irregularities. 
 
 "So you really think it is wrong to go to a 
 ball or a theatre? But tell me, do you never 
 want to?" he questioned curiously. 
 
 "Sometimes, when I hear talk of a play, I should 
 like to go to the theatre," answered Gillette, but 
 for the nervous action of her hands, as simply as 
 any child. Nevertheless, she longed for the mo- 
 ment when her catechism by this stranger should 
 be at an end. 
 
 "All frivolous things are not distasteful to you, 
 then?" Crawford pursued with a mild persist- 
 ence. 
 
 Gillette felt troubled to be clear as to what the 
 other signified by frivolity. To lie with a book 
 on the river or in a garden, to do many trivial 
 things, indeed, were pleasant to her. Half forget- 
 ting her self-consciousness a second, she looked up 
 at him, and Crawford was astonished at the can- 
 did beauty of her eyes. 
 
 "I like many frivolous things; and some friv-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 65 
 
 olous things I know to be wrong," she replied a 
 little vaguely. 
 
 She was thinking, as she added the last half of 
 her sentence, how violent the temptation was, at 
 this period, to spend time and money upon at- 
 tractive clothes, to wave her hair and dress it 
 elaborately, to powder and pale the crimson 
 cheeks. 
 
 "What frivolous things do you like naughty 
 modern novels?" 
 
 Crawford put the special kind of inquiry with 
 a touch of mischief. He had an idea the words 
 "naughty modern novels" would disconcert the 
 simplicity of this curious religieuse. 
 
 Gillette shook her head, however, without in- 
 crease of nervousness. Something patient in her 
 manner touched him, and he vowed not to tease 
 her any more. After all, the people who did not 
 pass existence trying to please themselves pos- 
 sessed powers to which his sense of gigantic self- 
 ishness paid an impressed homage. Constant ha- 
 bituation, moreover, to women of the world made 
 this shrinking, plain girl, with her complete ab- 
 sence of all the customary social qualities, and 
 her quaint intense religiousness, quite refreshing. 
 There was an impression of goodness impalpably 
 given out by her presence. Crawford had never 
 known a woman one could actually define as a 
 good woman before. His fundamental desire to 
 live easily and gaily had maintained him in a 
 set where nobility of action was not thought of, 
 and where women were more or less, for the most 
 part, fair game to treat shabbily. They knew 
 5
 
 66 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 their world so well, and tricked men with equal, 
 if not greater, skill and unconcern. And suddenly 
 he reflected lazily how refreshing it would be if 
 he could come across some girl as spiritually 
 alert as this one, but with a face at the same 
 time fascinating to watch. A pure, quiet mind 
 detached from intrigues and passion, what ex- 
 traordinary charm it would have ! He was dead 
 sick of the women who wanted eternal admira- 
 tion, eternal undesirable adventures, eternally ex- 
 pensive meals and suppers. But, then, the worst 
 of being bad one's self was that it flung one into 
 the society of persons similarly constituted. Still, 
 he might be said to have repented, having cer- 
 tainly abandoned the entire system of his old 
 habits. Repleted with the monotony of their 
 ways, he had given up women's society. He was, 
 he felt, too fat any longer to dance attendance 
 on their usually uncongenial whims. Their cham- 
 pagne suppers gave him liver attacks, and their 
 rich selections in food increased his alarming cor- 
 pulence. 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Sinclair's voice came to 
 them from behind the yew walk. Gillette shifted 
 her position uneasily in the hammock, and again 
 gave him the impression of suffering either from 
 intense dread or excitement. 
 
 "It must be very difficult," he said abruptly, 
 "nowadays to try and live up to religious prin- 
 ciples. The times, I should have thought, would 
 have rendered any close application of Biblical 
 theories impossible." 
 
 "Some things, I think, were only written for
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 67 
 
 the times and country in which the Bible was 
 written, don't you?" she answered, halting more 
 than ever. "But, then, if one tries to do the good 
 one can, nothing else matters. The place is noth- 
 ing. If one loves, one's heart is out of the world, 
 where " 
 
 She became terrified suddenly at her own out- 
 flow of spiritual confidences, and stopped short, 
 distressed as at some breach of social decorum. 
 
 "Where what, Miss Whittacker? Where one's 
 beloved is should be the proper place." 
 
 Crawford had terminated her sentence as the 
 merest jest, and suddenly he saw by her face that 
 his words were the actual ones in her mind, only 
 with a spiritual application instead of his own 
 merely sentimental intention. 
 
 Once more he gave h.~ a look almost verging 
 upon admiration. The i oor little lady he had 
 commenced by so deeply commiserating now ap- 
 peared to him not to need much pity. She had 
 chosen better than to trust her delicate thoughts 
 into the careless hands of the world. She had 
 withdrawn them to the unsullible territory of her 
 own soul. 
 
 Gillette, meanwhile, seeing her mother approach, 
 half rose from the hammock and then subsided 
 again. Mrs. Sinclair came across to them almost 
 at a run, and the moment she reached the cool 
 shade of the trees held out her arms to her daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 "My dearie, I have heard, and I'm simply de- 
 lighted. Bravo, Gillette! Good heavens! you 
 don't know the dread I 'ad that you meant to
 
 68 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 be like a Catholic, wedded to the Lord only, or 
 whatever it is. My dear, my dear, this makes 
 me feel positively skittish." 
 
 There was dead silence. Mrs. Sinclair kissed 
 the passive cheeks of her daughter, while Spenser 
 stood by, without any visible expression, watch- 
 ing both. Gillette, however, as she disengaged 
 herself from her mother's arms, turned to look 
 at him with an apologetic wistfulness. He took 
 no notice of her gaze, but, feeling it incumbent 
 upon him to do something, took her by the hand 
 and put her back in one of the arm-chairs. As 
 he did so, he said to Crawford, who was staring 
 at them with his mouth literally open. 
 
 "Allow me to introduce you to my fiancee, 
 Crawford. Miss Whittacker half an hour ago did 
 me the honor to consent to be my wife." 
 
 Crawford congratulated them in the dullest and 
 feeblest fashion. He felt his wits scattered, his 
 normal affability tottering like a dotard. 
 
 "My God!" was his mental ejaculation; and he 
 sat down beside the fluttering mother, flaccid with 
 surprise and shock. 
 
 A more pitiable, silly, tragic engagement for 
 both parties he thought it difficult to conceive.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 On the following Saturday Mrs. Sinclair gave 
 her party on the river, and in the four days in- 
 tervening Gillette saw nothing of her fiance. He 
 had arranged to come the next day, but instead 
 Gillette received a note, saying that he was un- 
 well, taken with a little chill sitting late under 
 the trees thinking of her. The dew had been 
 heavy, and in consequence, the sooner to be rid 
 of indisposition, he was keeping morosely indoors 
 until Saturday. 
 
 Gillette read his letter with a natural pang of 
 disappointment. Yet in several ways she was 
 satisfied that a little time should elapse before 
 their re-meeting. On the following nights Gil- 
 lette lay very little in bed. She spent them on her 
 knees by the window, her elbows on a wooden 
 prie-dieu, her eyes on the beautiful nudity of the 
 night, that not a cloud traversed. 
 
 Until the dawn detached wanly the objects of 
 her room, Gillette knelt and prayed for more 
 strength, more love, more holiness. In phrases 
 that no longer halted like her sentences in the 
 daytime, but poured out of her intense and flu- 
 ent, she petitioned for all sufferers, for all sinners, 
 for all peoples of every nation ; and when at last 
 she ceased for very brain-weariness, she would 
 rest her head in her hands to think, with what 
 capacity she had left, of the dazzling beauty of
 
 70 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 the Christ-life, and the example left by it to guide 
 into the Mystic Rose where kneel the saints in 
 perfect sanctity. Finally, when the dawn com- 
 menced timidly to re-dress the unclothed space 
 of darkness, she uttered the final confession of 
 these vigils that she laid her happiness in God's 
 keeping, to take away at any moment should 
 He choose. It -was the certainty that she could 
 surrender without revolt all that was now so 
 sweet to her that finally calmed her early doubts, 
 and on the morning of the Molesey Regatta Gil- 
 lette, to her mother's delight a little pale and 
 tired-looking, went about superintending prep- 
 arations with a perefctly untroubled gladness. 
 It was not often she could take part in her 
 mother's parties. Usually they were of a nature 
 inimical to Gillette ; but this little jaunt on God's 
 beautiful river did not feel outside the limits of 
 innocent enjoyment. She was additionally glad 
 of it, moreover, because Ellice was to be there, 
 too Ellice that she loved almost as much as the 
 man whose earthly happiness she desired hence- 
 forward to be always associated with. Gillette 
 could not think of Ellice without tenderness. 
 Never since they had found each other as little 
 girls at school had there been a dissension to 
 distort the fairness of their mutual memories, or 
 a regrettable incident to sow doubts concerning 
 character. Neither knew which cared the most, 
 and both were aware that to no one else was 
 there the same intimate revelation of thought, 
 the same absolute spontaneity. Gillette, indeed, 
 often felt that she alone truly knew this beauti-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 71 
 
 fill girl she loved. Always to others she saw El- 
 lice smiling, gay, quietly humorous and content. 
 But with her Ellice would often during the last 
 year that she loved unhappily Gillette felt pain- 
 fully certain drop this gracious show. She would 
 sit then by Gillette's side, with lips drawn down 
 like a lonely child's ; and her conversation would 
 be serious and wistful, swathed in an unuttered 
 request to the other, to bear with a pervading 
 sadness, seldom granted this comfortable ease of 
 unloosement. 
 
 To-day Gillette expected her earlier than the 
 rest, having written to ask for an hour alone 
 together before the party started. And, indeed, 
 she had only reached the stage in her own dress- 
 ing of twisting her thick brown hair in a plain 
 coil at the back of her head, when the sound of 
 silk along the passage heralded Ellice' s entrance. 
 
 Gillette ran to the door, and let the other in 
 herself. She stood still as Ellice, having kissed 
 her, slipped past in to the room. White billowy, 
 cloudy, illusive seemed suddenly to etherealize 
 the small space. And out of this gleaming, trans- 
 parent, fluttering pallor rose Ellice's upturned 
 face, like a water-lily from a sun-shimmering 
 river. 
 
 Gillette contemplated her admiringly. Her own 
 gray-spotted muslin lay on the bed. She had 
 taken a furtive pleasure in it until this moment; 
 but, looking at it after Ellice's entrance, it ap- 
 peared to her visibly to vulgarize itself. 
 
 "Oh, how beautiful you are!" she exclaimed 
 with an indrawn breath. Surely in such petal-
 
 72 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 like whiteness God's saints winged their way 
 into His presence. 
 
 Ellice, whose face wore an unaccustomed look 
 of weariness, turned to place her parasol on the 
 bed. 
 
 "Gee-Gee, don't be utterly wayward. And tell 
 me your letter suggested some news. Have you 
 anything to tell me, dear?" 
 
 Gillette, still in her plain white petticoat and 
 petticoat bodice, had commenced to wash her 
 hands. At the abrupt question, she seized the 
 towel and came impulsively toward the bed. El- 
 lice was looking at her, but the expression of her 
 face had such a curious immobility, Gillette won- 
 dered for a second whether the other already 
 guessed, and suffered at the contrast to her own 
 dreary love-drama. Her eyes, over which the lids 
 half closed, had a strange light, not sweet, but 
 excited. Gillette commenced drying her hands, 
 rendered unexpectedly nervous. Somehow she had 
 expected to have found it easier to confide in 
 Ellice. 
 
 "Yes, I have something to tell you, dear; but 
 isn't it stupid? I am half nervous even of talking 
 it over to you. It " 
 
 "Are you going to be married, Gee-Gee?" 
 
 Instantly the girl dropped her towel on the 
 floor, and flung her arms, confused, round the 
 other's neck. She did not see the fixed gleam 
 that continued in her friend's eyes. Pain, per- 
 plexity, and revolt merged in the look of the glit- 
 tering pupils. Gillette, however, only felt the soft- 
 ness of the arms that hugged her, and the loud
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 73 
 
 heart-beats of the breast against her own. When 
 Ellice's arms slackened, she told the whole cir- 
 cumstance. While doing so she brushed her hair 
 before the dressing-table. It did not need brush- 
 ing again, but Ellice's scantiness of words made 
 confession curiously difficult. At last it was told. 
 Feeling lighter for the unburdenment, Gillette 
 turned for congratulation. 
 
 Ellice was still standing by the bed, and as the 
 other moved from the dressing-table, for the in- 
 finitesimal portion of a second, it seemed to her 
 that the face she confronted was set and bitter. 
 She had not time, however, to realize the thought 
 before the other, smiling and tender, was once 
 more kissing her, with arms about her neck. 
 
 "Dress," was all she said, however, "and let 
 us go and talk it all over in the punt under the 
 willows. Only, Gillette, tell me first you are ab- 
 solutely happy in your engagement, aren't you?" 
 
 Gillette mechanically drew her new black chip 
 hat out of its tissue coverings. Ellice's manner 
 was so cold, in comparison to her expectation, 
 that it filled her with a growing impression of 
 trouble. She was herself at that moment almost 
 charming to look at ; for Gillette, though unaware 
 of the fact, had a skin that, except in the face 
 where the red rose too harshly, was like a sur- 
 face of satin. Her shoulders were beautiful and 
 white, her throat and breast lovely in design, 
 while her arms, if a little fat, were of a milky 
 whiteness, almost dazzling. Nothing, indeed, 
 could have been more lovable and coquettish 
 than the rounded elbows. The sorry part of it
 
 74 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 was that all these beauties the girl kept in mis- 
 erly concealment, never uncovering either neck, 
 shoulders, or arms in public. And the hands that 
 finished off the milk -colored arms were red and un- 
 gainly, as if constantly flushed by the disconcer- 
 tion of an unwilling publicity. 
 
 Ellice, however, gazing at her as rather drearily 
 Gillette placed her hat by her gown, was uncon- 
 scious of physical charms. Fiddling the curiously 
 shaped topaz and diamond ring she wore, she 
 said again, but as if with an effort : 
 
 "Are you sure, Gee-Gee, that you will be happy 
 as the wife of George Spenser?" 
 
 Utterly distressed, not so much by the repeated 
 question as by a certain tone in the other's voice, 
 Gillette knelt suddenly by her friend, clasping the 
 jewelled hands. 
 
 "Ellice, why do you ask that with such a 
 still kind of voice? You, who have known him 
 so long would you advise me not to marry Mr. 
 Spenser?" The words were impelled out of her 
 against her will. 
 
 Uneasily the ringed hands disengaged themselves 
 from her hold. With one Ellice fingered uncer- 
 tainly the edging of embroidery that ran round 
 the top of Gillette's petticoat bodice. 
 
 "I could not advise you in this matter, dear. 
 How could any one, with the possibility there 
 must be of making an irreparable mistake? Don't 
 think for an instant, little Gee-Gee, I speak with 
 any detrimental knowledge of Mr. Spenser; I 
 know nothing but good of him. Only marriage 
 is a dangerous undertaking for deep natures.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 75 
 
 Follies like me and your mother can take risks; 
 we but brush against all emotions. You immerse 
 your whole dear nature, and for you, conse- 
 quently, almost any mistake is irretrievable. But 
 you are thoughtful and wise, dear, therefore you 
 must have substantial reasons for being assured 
 of the future." 
 
 Palpitating emotion was like a hot breath on 
 every word. The hand that at the commencement 
 fingered Gillette's embroidery lay forgotten against 
 the girl's breast. They looked at each other finally 
 with an anxiety too great for speech. Gillette's 
 hands sought wistfully once more for the jewelled 
 fingers of the other. 
 
 "I have not thought much. I am afraid I can 
 only feel." 
 
 Ellice sat for a second with a look of inatten- 
 tion. Then, brusquely, she pushed the kneeling 
 girl back sufficiently to allow herself to rise, and 
 went over to the window. 
 
 "Oh, how hard it is to know!" she exclaimed 
 with a passionate vagueness. 
 
 Gillette, filled with uncomprehending anxieties 
 by the other's apparent rebuff, rose to her feet. 
 Tears swam helplessly in her large eyes, and at 
 last, feeling dazed and anguished, she commenced 
 zestlessly to put on her gray muslin dress. She 
 had no sooner taken it off the bed, however, than 
 Ellice suddenly came back to her and seized both 
 her hands. 
 
 "Gee-Gee, I love you, and your happiness is very 
 precious to me. I am glad, glad, glad, dearest, 
 if you are happy. But I want to make sure,
 
 76 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 that is all, remembering how different are your 
 views from the worldliness of most of us. I want 
 to be confident, and you two are so unlike. Mr. 
 Spenser is not religious, sweet. Have you felt, 
 since as you say love can only feel, that there is 
 enough sympathy between you for the closeness 
 and permanence of marriage?" 
 
 Her voice vibrated with unmistakable anxiety, 
 and her rings cut deep into Gillette's fingers. The 
 solemnity of her manner affected the other almost 
 as much as the miserable nature of what she said. 
 When she ceased speaking, Gillette replied without 
 a pause. There were no grounds any longer for 
 hesitation. 
 
 "You are right, Ellice; I must not marry him. 
 I have been mad. How could I make such a man 
 permanently content with me? But you, Ellice 
 you have loved, too; I feel that always. Then, 
 you know how it comes and makes one helpless. 
 Ellice, you have been kissed; you know how it 
 feels when one loves. Oh, Ellice! Ellice!" 
 
 "He kissed you on the mouth?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 They stood for a second immobile, as if their 
 words had mesmerized them. The breasts of both 
 heaved, while between them, like a tangible hot 
 presence, came the sense of a kiss pressed upon 
 their faces. Ellice' s lips moved. She appeared to 
 select and reject several sentences. Finally, with 
 a gesture wearily impotent, she turned away to- 
 ward the bed. 
 
 "Dress," she said, speaking monotonously, like 
 a person asleep. "I saw your mother just now,
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 77 
 
 ready on the lawn. And, Gillette, remember I 
 want you to remember on this matter I have 
 not dared to advise you." 
 
 Gillette moved her head in unthinking assent, 
 and dressed herself without speaking. She was 
 praying for strength to unloose herself from this 
 man whom she could undoubtedly not make 
 happy. When she was ready, she said quietly: 
 
 "Shall we go down?" 
 
 "Your hat is crooked," replied the other, whose 
 face still looked weary and disturbed. 
 
 Gillette lifted a hand absently, and pushed the 
 hat unconsciously still further to one side. Then 
 suddenly out flashed all the lights of the child- 
 like face, and Ellice laughed involuntarily. 
 
 "Here, let me," she said, rectifying with her 
 jewelled fingers the angle of Gillette's brim. 
 
 Then she slipped on to her knees and commenced 
 to pull the muslin skirt into shape at the back. 
 As she did so, Mrs. Sinclair's voice, coming up to 
 the open window from the lawn, startled them 
 both: 
 
 "Gillette! Gillette! Mr. Spenser is here. Gil- 
 lette, do you hear? Mr. Spenser is here." 
 
 Ellice was still at the pretty, simple gray skirt. 
 She stopped abruptly, holding on to the muslin. 
 Suddenly she felt Gillette tremble as if seized with 
 a helpless panic. Neither answered for a minute. 
 Ellice' s own hands had grown like ice. Between 
 the two girls a swift reunion leaped up, born of 
 a mutual desire not to reply to the voice calling 
 and not to go out into the noise and sunlight. It 
 persisted, however, the loud, insistent call for them.
 
 78 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 "Let us go, Gee-Gee," said Ellice at last. 
 
 As they moved to the door she glanced at the 
 saddened face beside her. Something more, either 
 tender or helpful, it was absolutely necessary to 
 say. Yet her tongue lay as if paralyzed. In the 
 hall she tried once more to utter at least one 
 phrase to comfort the friend she dared not coun- 
 sel. Nothing came. They passed into the garden, 
 and her repudiation of responsibility remained ab- 
 solute and untouched.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 When Gillette returned to the house that night, 
 her engagement not only still existed, but more 
 definitely than before. The first -words she had 
 uttered to her fiance had been a stammered re- 
 quest to withdraw her assent of the other day. 
 Ellice had left her the moment they reached the 
 garden, crossing over to speak to Mr. Crawford, 
 whom she knew well, and who was standing a 
 little apart in conversation with Mrs. Sinclair. 
 
 George Spenser listened with contracted eye- 
 brows to Gillette's statement. His skin in the 
 brilliant sunlight looked bloodless, and even as 
 she spoke the girl felt a pang of remorse. He 
 was ill, and she gave him pain that she herself 
 might be secured from it in the future. He re- 
 quired nursing, money, care; and she, who had 
 through her wealth so much power to give him 
 what was needful, proposed deliberately to refuse. 
 
 When she had finished speaking, he looked at 
 her angrily. 
 
 "Is this you, Gillette, who do not know your 
 mind for two minutes together? You, who wrote 
 to me yesterday that " 
 
 "Don't, don't!" exclaimed the girl piteously. 
 
 She could not face a quotation from words 
 written in solitude and silence. Both could hear 
 Ellice' s voice at a little distance ; a piece of her
 
 80 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 white skirt showed behind the trunk of a tree 
 where she stood talking. 
 
 With a note of irritation that the persuasion of 
 his words could not disguise, Spenser rapidly re- 
 futed every reason put forward by Gillette. She 
 was already emptied of arguments when Mrs. 
 Sinclair and the rest of the party came up to 
 them. Spenser and Ellice shook hands briefly, 
 while Crawford greeted the coming bride. He 
 thought her considerably less plain than on the 
 day of their first meeting, though the incongru- 
 ity of the couple remained as hopelessly obvious 
 as ever. 
 
 He was more interested, however, at the mo- 
 ment with the conduct of Miss Bastien and Spen- 
 ser, for, like most of their acquaintances, he had 
 long believed in some secret understanding be- 
 tween these two. He had, indeed, heard a good 
 deal too much gossip about them, not to credit 
 a certain amount, at least, of the semi-scandal 
 lightly afloat concerning this unacknowledged 
 love affair. How she would take this collapse 
 was the question that interested him. Not that 
 he had much liking for the girl. She was extremely 
 good-looking ; but he knew a great many women 
 equally attractive in appearance, and she gave 
 him always the impression of being monotonously 
 similar to a number of others; of having the same 
 little tricks of fascination, the same cultivated 
 smile, the same shallow outlook and intentions. 
 
 Still, the moment lent her an extraneous inter- 
 est. She was now a woman placed in an inter- 
 esting situation. Spenser treated her brusquely,
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 81 
 
 as if either conscious of resentment or fearing 
 his own capacity for control. Crawford thought 
 he had seldom seen him look so unpleasant, in 
 spite of the slight charm his iron-gray hair gave 
 at all times to his appearance. But the girl was 
 tranquil to a degree annihilating to ordinary sus- 
 picion, and calm of eyes and mouth, as if emerged 
 from pleasant slumber. Crawford suspected her 
 not one whit the less for this circumstance, but 
 he admired her newly. Pluck had its own undeni- 
 able dignity. After all, these stereotyped women, 
 if they were fatiguing, had in compensation a fine 
 conduct in emergencies. The poor little stodgy 
 lady of religious mania would have fared ill, he 
 concluded, in a similar crisis. 
 
 All that day Spenser remained as if riveted by 
 an all-absorbing devotion to the side of his vacil- 
 lating fiancee. The vision of his future power 
 had gripped him during the days of absence. He 
 saw little at the moment but this gold which 
 could gratify every whim save one. If, as he 
 leaned forward in talk to Gillette, a fine white 
 skirt passed within reach of vision, he gave no 
 sign of being concerned by its vicinity. All that 
 day he worked for one thing only to secure his 
 grasp of this fortune, wriggling to escape him. 
 Gillette, when at last she went weary to bed, 
 could remember nothing of the regatta, or the 
 mealr, or the people who had formed their party. 
 All that had been allowed entrance to her under- 
 standing was the burning phrases of the man 
 who had never left her side, who had followed 
 as a shadow wherever she moved, and had beaten 
 6
 
 82 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 down one by one every scruple she could raise. 
 She ended the expedition so utterly -worn out she 
 could scarcely drag her feet across the lawn back 
 into the house, but with the permission securely 
 wrung from her that Spenser and her mother 
 should, whenever they chose, definitely settle ar- 
 rangements for the wedding. 
 
 On the following afternoon, therefore, Spenser 
 held a private interview with Mrs. Sinclair. It 
 took place ostensibly to decide the date of mar- 
 riage; but in the minds of both, when they shook 
 hands in the immense drawing-room, with its 
 modern imitations of Louis Seize furniture, the 
 same thought lay uppermost. The money Gil- 
 lette's money that was the real subject they had 
 to discuss. Mrs. Sinclair loved her daughter the 
 latter was, indeed, the one profound affection of 
 her life; nevertheless, she had not the least hes- 
 itation in urging this marriage. That George 
 Spenser did not love the girl extremely she took 
 for granted ; but at the same time she regarded 
 him not only as a desirable lift in the social lad- 
 der for both, but as a protector for the girl from 
 dangerous religious impulses. Single, Mrs. Sin- 
 clair never knew from day to day in what ridic- 
 ulous charity a slice of Gillette's fortune would 
 not go. She lived pursued by perpetual fear that 
 sooner or later the girl would fling the whole of 
 it away from her. And a worse calamity than 
 this Mrs. Sinclair could not conceive to have a 
 fortune and deliberately discard it. George Spen- 
 ser would prevent any possibility of such a disas- 
 ter in the future. Gillette, denuded of the gold
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 83 
 
 that was like a shimmering haze about her, was 
 not likely to be appetizing to any man. Besides, 
 Mrs. Sinclair felt no fool in certain matters, and 
 this man's need of riches was unmistakable. Well, 
 he should have it, in order that Gillette, too, 
 might retain it and enjoy it. Fortunately, the 
 latter believed in the submission of wives. In 
 this one thing, at least, Mrs. Sinclair felt grate- 
 ful to the Bible ; but for its persistent reiteration 
 of the obedience due from the weaker vessel, even 
 marriage might have been a useless precaution. 
 As it was, Gillette's engagement rolled an increas- 
 ing load off her mother's heart, and she met 
 George Spenser prepared candidly to thrash out 
 the question, both as to how the girl's fortune 
 was invested and the power over its expenditure 
 he might expect in the future. 
 
 Honestly, she looked upon him at this time as 
 an ally who would help her to save Gillette de- 
 spite herself, for, in truth, the girl had no sus- 
 picion how greatly her religious denials tormented 
 her mother. But Mrs. Sinclair could not compre- 
 hend any happiness not based on physical com- 
 fort, and it never ceased to be a grief to her 
 when Gillette passed all animal food, or denied 
 herself some comfort of mind or body, that the 
 soul might not grow enervated. 
 
 As regards this marriage, moreover, to do Mrs. 
 Sinclair justice, she had made the most earnest 
 inquiries as to George Spenser's life and character, 
 before encouraging his suit with all the impetuos- 
 ity of her nature. Nothing had come to her ears 
 of even a mildly offensive nature. No grave vices
 
 84 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 were known or apparently suspected, and his 
 servant, Mrs. Temple, whom she questioned un- 
 der a pretext of a second time washing her hands 
 on the memorable Tuesday, had nothing but kind- 
 ness to relate. The gravity, in addition, usually 
 attached to the marriage state had no meaning 
 to Mrs. Sinclair. Given a large house, and plenty 
 of money for entertainment, Mrs. Sinclair could 
 not see but that, even should one's selection not 
 prove -wholly satisfying to the expectations, it 
 was easy to bear the disappointment philosoph- 
 ically. There -were plenty of other good things 
 in life besides adoring husbands. 
 
 The interview, therefore, proved astoundingly 
 easy to both. What George Spenser himself could 
 have suggested only with extreme vagueness and 
 circumlocution, he found uttered clearly and un- 
 abashed for him. Mrs. Sinclair had already had 
 a definite understanding with Gillette, and could 
 say with perfect truth that her daughter desired 
 to settle half of her income of sixteen thousand 
 pounds a year upon her husband on their wed- 
 ding-day; the other half she retained for her 
 housekeeping expenses, her charities, and personal 
 expenditure. And so deeply did Mrs. Sinclair 
 dread her daughter's generosity, that in stating 
 this she nearly added an open appeal to him to 
 try and see that these charities became no more 
 excessive than was necessary. 
 
 George Spenser felt practically flabbergasted by 
 the whole interview. The ease with which an 
 unpleasant subject had been disposed of staggered 
 him; nothing, moreover, could have satisfied his
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 85 
 
 wishes more than the proposals made. He had 
 never desired control of more than half Gillette's 
 income; it sufficed to give him the scope he 
 wanted, and with the whole would have arisen 
 a sense of excessive obligation, quite impossible. 
 His equal share yielded a fictitious but bland air 
 of justice to the arrangement. He had now only 
 to ascertain that his stout bride did not like trav- 
 elling and that was surely beyond question with 
 a mind so closed as hers and the future would 
 prove all that could be wished. 
 
 Quite a wave of tenderness for Gillette herself 
 welled up in him, as he sat fencing with Mrs. 
 Sinclair in the large, cold drawing-room, with its 
 array of silver frames and flower-vases and its 
 expensive meaningless brocades; and, filled with 
 triumph, his manner remained admirable through- 
 out. His agreement to everything was the calm 
 and simple acceptance of a state of affairs he, as 
 a man of the world, could not but consider best 
 for both. More than once he reminded Mrs. Sin- 
 clair that their business was to think out the 
 most comfortable arrangement for Gillette. At 
 no moment was there any pretence of wishing 
 the fortune non-existent, but throughout their 
 argument he referred undeviatingly to the girl's 
 happiness as the only measure by which affairs 
 were to be regulated. He inquired minutely as to 
 the girl's tastes, and to the degree of elegance 
 her religion would find pleasure in. Altogether, his 
 attitude of sincere if mild affection was so superbly 
 maintained that Mrs. Sinclair finally left to fetch 
 her daughter, genuinely overflowing with his
 
 86 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 praises. The girl descended to him after them 
 with quite a little glow of heart at their un- 
 stinted measure. 
 
 The engaged couple spent the rest of the after- 
 noon together in the garden, but to George Spen- 
 ser it was the easiest and pleasantest time he 
 had ever passed in the girl's company. So indis- 
 soluble was she for the moment from all she gave 
 him that he scarcely considered her ugly, grati- 
 tude clothing her for a little in tentative vague 
 beauties unperceived before. When Mrs. Sinclair 
 called them in to dinner, there had never been 
 so much spontaneous accord between them. Gil- 
 lette was laughing frankly, delighted with the 
 new power to feel at ease with him on ordinary 
 topics, while Spenser was plying her with the 
 tender chaff of the absurdly happy lover. He 
 had even reached the pitch of telling himself she 
 would be quite a comfortable little body to live 
 with healthy, simple, and, with the absorption 
 of her religious duties, not intolerably dependent 
 upon one's attention. He would soon get quite 
 attached to her; positively, he felt a brotherly 
 affection already. 
 
 For the next week they saw each other con- 
 stantly. The harmony was less genuine than 
 upon the first afternoon, but there was sunshine, 
 the shady garden by the river, and the immense 
 charm of sustained good weather, to assist George 
 Spenser's temper. By the following Saturday, 
 however, he felt the strain begin to tell. He 
 woke in the morning to find the thought of the 
 Riverside House and the meek Gillette oppress
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 87 
 
 him like a thunderstorm. On the previous day 
 he had found the time crawl by so tediously that 
 at the sounding of the dinner-gong he had found 
 difficulty in concealing his relief. It -was, after 
 all, an incredibly laborious business to talk for 
 four solid hours at a time to a person entirely 
 uncongenial. Even the one discussion close to 
 his heart the refurnishing of Rook House grad- 
 ually became tedious for lack of intelligent re- 
 sponse. Gillette had never a suggestion to offer : 
 to everything she gave the same unqualified as- 
 sent, until from sheer nervous antipathy to the 
 monotony he longed to box her ears. Only one 
 room she had asked to be allowed to furnish her- 
 self. She required it, apparently, for reunions of 
 children and poor mothers. But, except this one 
 apartment, she left everything in Spenser's hands. 
 Not that she was as destitute of ideas as he sup- 
 posed, only the desires she had were of a much 
 less subtle nature than his, and ran, she saw 
 immediately, in entirely different directions. In a 
 house where the old Italian influence would ap- 
 parently be paramount, she had nothing helpful 
 to say. Moreover, all she desired was his happi- 
 ness. Her one delight lay in compassing that at 
 any personal sacrifice whatsoever. 
 
 By the Saturday, however, Spenser's nerves 
 were in a state of collapse. Another day of Gil- 
 lette without an interval's recuperation would, 
 he felt, be dangerous as well as painful. Twice 
 the evening before he had found the words, "My 
 dear girl, don't be a silly little fool!" on the tip 
 of his tongue. The necessary show of interest,
 
 88 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 moreover, in her religious work taxed him al- 
 ready to an appalling extent. The very look of 
 sudden eagerness that entered into the timid eyes 
 when he questioned her upon her East End la- 
 bors, from touching him, had become a cause of 
 absolute irritation. On the Friday it had taken 
 him ten minutes before he could make up his 
 mind to start the subject. So the following morn- 
 ing he sent a telegram from the club in London 
 
 "Obliged to go home until Monday. 
 
 "GEORGE." 
 
 and took an early afternoon train to the quie- 
 tude of Rook House. He wanted to free him- 
 self from the Gillette atmosphere, already hope- 
 lessly on his nerves. But also he had an obscure 
 indefinite desire to be alone at Rook House with 
 thoughts of Ellice. 
 
 She had scarcely entered his mind until the even- 
 ing before. The absorption of Gillette's fortune 
 had been like a mania. But suddenly on the Fri- 
 day he had asked himself whether, the ba ttle once 
 gained, he should experience the smallest pleasure 
 in its spoils. And immediately after-ward followed 
 an immeasurable yearning for a day alone with 
 Ellice. 
 
 During the hour that followed, behind his talk 
 with Gillette, he had endeavored to conceive the 
 exact degree of charm there would be in having 
 Ellice later on stay with them at Rook House. 
 He had also tried to decide which among the 
 many spare bedrooms he should select for her, 
 and how, when chosen, he should furnish it.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 89 
 
 Finally he became so engrossed in the subject he 
 had allowed the conversation to drop altogether ; 
 and Gillette, seeing him lean back in his garden- 
 chair, evidently preoccupied by some abrupt 
 thought, ceased explaining her ideas for a chil- 
 dren's home in the country, and, taking some 
 needlework from a little table by her side, had 
 commenced to work in a meek, contented silence.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 Meanwhile George Spenser, leaning back with 
 his eyes closed, had surrendered himself to the 
 unexpected fascination of thinking out a room 
 for Ellice. At the moment it actually retinged 
 the fading colors of the present with a new glow, 
 so extreme was his interest in the idea. Uncon- 
 scious of the woman working at his side, he de- 
 veloped scheme after scheme of decoration. At 
 last a smile touched his lips ; he had it the ideal 
 bedroom for Ellice. To begin with, it must be 
 large, to make her a little delicious gem set in 
 the heart of it; one of the big rooms on the south 
 side of the house, therefore, should be selected. 
 The paper he knew already, an old-fashioned 
 white and oyster gray, spotted like a bird's egg. 
 Then, her carpet should be a thick velvet pile of 
 white with pale-colored pink roses scattered over 
 its surface. It delighted him to picture her pretty 
 bare feet treading on the soft texture of the roses, 
 lying as if strewn there in perpetual homage. 
 Her dressing-table also must be white, with 
 he would find one somewhere an old china pow- 
 der-puff unique in its immensity, china candle- 
 sticks, and little china boxes, equally rare and 
 beautiful, to hold her pins and trinkets, her thou- 
 sand and one quaint woman's necessities. Then 
 right away at one end of the room should be 
 Ellice's great four-poster bed, to contain little
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 91 
 
 Ellice half lost within it little Ellice whose skin 
 would be like the petal of a pale rose in all its 
 whiteness a whiteness not cold, but rich, subtle, 
 triumphant, like Ellice's own beauty. Few women 
 could bear such an absence of color ! Fancy the 
 average woman's skin against a sea of white! 
 To see Ellice's how exquisite! All her curtains, 
 and her sofa, and her armchair should be of 
 palest pearl-toned satin, the seats silk-fringed and 
 deep-cushioned. He imagined her, then, sitting 
 in one of them by the fire in an attitude of care- 
 less repose before she went to bed, or dressed for 
 dinner. She would have flung off her gown, and 
 her shoulders and little arms would stand out 
 like the delicate flushing whiteness of a shell, 
 against the billowing cushions that pressed about 
 her young warm body like a caress. Ah ! Ellice's 
 apartment how it cheered him ! It almost gave 
 new interest to his rapidly palling engagement; 
 for already there were intervals when he could 
 not find the least zest in this fatiguing fortune. 
 The horrible possibility of being bored beyond 
 endurance by it had occurred to him more than 
 once, so inseparable were its benefits from its 
 incumbrances. 
 
 But just the amusement of making a room for 
 his heart's delight, his lovely, laughing Ellice, 
 heartened him again. Her pictures would have 
 to be chosen, a few pieces of color placed here 
 and there, her looking-glass the looking-glass 
 Ellice would stand in front of every day and the 
 books that were to be always there for her read- 
 ing, bound in delicate gay colors. Why, she
 
 92 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 would be like a bride in her bedroom, itself white 
 as it should be for a bride. 
 
 He rose suddenly. The bridal fancy, entered 
 unawares into his thoughts, had roused disagree- 
 able sensations. In the garden adjoining two 
 little girls were playing about, watched over by 
 a slender, graceful woman, evidently their mother. 
 The sight increased his irritable regrets. To have 
 as wife, bearing one's name, and like a patent 
 expression of one's taste, a creature like Gillette, 
 made one the butt of every joker. My God ! when 
 she grew old, the size of her, the double chin ! 
 Women like Ellice and this well-bred neighbor 
 scarcely grew old at all. There remained always 
 the same finished elegance, the same charm of 
 dress, voice and manner. 
 
 He did not feel altogether a successful lover for 
 the rest of his visit. At dinner a city Jew, also 
 a guest, drew from him several testy contradic- 
 tions on subjects he had no real interest in what- 
 soever. His sole desire was to annoy the Jew. 
 Afterward a moonlight row with Japanese lan- 
 terns was proposed by Mrs. Sinclair. It would 
 have put an end to all possibility of another tete- 
 a-tete with Gillette, but again, solely to be un- 
 pleasant, he protested. The affair ended in Mrs. 
 Sinclair and her other visitors going, and leav- 
 ing Gillette and her fiance alone together. 
 
 ' 'Shall we walk a little up and down?" she asked 
 timidly, when the languid splashing of the oars 
 had died away in the distance. There was the 
 faint suggestion of a breeze at last. The trees 
 stirred every now and then in the silence, like
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 93 
 
 the sound of a woman's skirt, coming toward 
 them and then ceasing abruptly. Gillette, quick 
 to feel the least variation of mood in those she 
 loved, had realized from the commencement of 
 dinner that something had disturbed or angered 
 her fiance. Tremulously she hoped for some ex- 
 planation. 
 
 George Spenser assented to the walk, and, hav- 
 ing received permission to smoke, walked beside 
 her as a casual acquaintance might. They talked 
 dully, of indifferent subjects. Several times he 
 asked the girl if she were not tired. There was 
 no reason for this anxiety, and after a second 
 inquiry she became certain that he desired to get 
 rid of her. It was not nearly time for his train 
 back to town, but she felt certain that he wanted 
 her to go to bed, so that he might be alone. Her 
 heart began to beat with an indefinite fear. 
 
 "Would you like to be alone, George?" she asked 
 at last, a little miserable appeal showing in her 
 delivery. He heard it and felt touched. Poor 
 child ! she was not so dull as she looked. 
 
 "No, no, dearest! To tell the truth, I have a 
 touch of liver to-night. I feel out of sorts, and 
 therefore horrible company for you. Little Gil- 
 lette must try and not be more bored than she 
 can help." 
 
 "I should never be bored, George, because you 
 were not in a mood to talk. To be with you 
 makes me happy. Besides, it is I who am al- 
 ways afraid of wearying you." 
 
 Them she was to some extent comforted, for 
 Spenser put his arm round her, kissed her cheek
 
 94 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 and neck, and called her his "adorable little 
 goose." 
 
 But the next afternoon he sat alone at Rook 
 House, in the room destined for Ellice, and 
 mapped out all that should fill it, how, and why. 
 
 While he was at breakfast on the following 
 morning, Sunday, moreover, there came a letter 
 from her. One from Gillette lay underneath, but 
 he opened it first, in order to get her off his mind 
 before perusing the other. Gillette wrote: 
 
 "DEAREST: Is it troublesome business calls you 
 home to-day? And can I do anything? It is, 
 and must always be, my chief delight when I can 
 do anything to make you happy, or relieve you 
 of unpleasantness. Will you remember this, dear? 
 
 "You are in my thoughts nearly all the day, 
 and I pray so often I may be in the future what 
 you called me the other day your 'little com- 
 forter.' It seems too great a thing for me; and 
 I am afraid, for, though you will not listen when 
 I say so, it is true that I am very, very stupid. 
 But I love you, and perhaps that will teach me 
 to be more worthy of you. 
 
 "Just as I wrote this I said to myself, 'He loves 
 me' ; and it seemed so impossible I had to repeat 
 it again and again, such a horrible incapacity 
 came over me to believe it could be true. George, 
 dear, I don't think I ever thanked you before for 
 loving me. But I say 'Thank you' now, and the 
 tears are tumbling on to the table with the funny 
 pain that, it seems, mixes with very great happiness. 
 Your foolish 
 
 "GILLETTE."
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 95 
 
 There was a grace of expression as well as of 
 thought about the letter that surprised him. He 
 did not immediately put it aside for the other. 
 Certainly the girl was by no means the nonentity 
 she looked. Every now and then a charming na- 
 ture put forth trembling blossoms. The pity of 
 it was they should fall upon such barren ground ; 
 for he knew already that in the future he should 
 never be able to forgive her for not being Ellice. 
 To recognize distinction in her would actually 
 increase his morbid distaste. All the apprecia- 
 tion he possessed he wanted to give to Ellice. 
 At least she should have all he had. Still, re- 
 lieved of Gillette's presence, he did her justice. 
 He acknowledged a certain beauty of mind, and, 
 through the acknowledgment, sharpened his in- 
 tention to be in conduct at least an irreproach- 
 able husband. 
 
 Subsequently, when the rest of his correspon- 
 dence had been disposed of, he turned to the let- 
 ter addressed by Ellice. Her handwriting was 
 small, but not illegible. Each letter remained 
 clear, and the capitals were exquisitely formed. 
 Spenser opened it after looking ruminatively at 
 the address. She wrote: 
 
 "DEAR OLD FRIEND: Congratulate me. Like 
 you, I have grown tired of singleness, and find 
 myself suddenly surrendering to the charm of a life 
 a deux. Yesterday I promised to marry to Mr. 
 Temple Newngham. You who know him do not 
 need to be sung his praises. Everybody, I think, 
 sincerely congratulates me, for almost every one
 
 96 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 loves him. So do I, and must have done, it seems, 
 for some time past. And yet I have to thank 
 you in some measure for the discovery. Without 
 your reminder that we were growing old, and 
 would soon be past the age of love-making, I 
 might still have continued indefinitely unaware 
 of the hidden desire for a change. You are 
 the fairy godfather that brought Maxime and 
 I together, and I blow you a kiss of grati- 
 tude. 
 
 "And you, too, have happiness. Moreover, Gil- 
 lette, dear Gillette, loves you -with a beautiful, 
 profound devotion. You see already, don't you? 
 how more than ordinarily good you must be to 
 her : natures so reticent suffer so abysmally. Re- 
 member always to be very tender to your new 
 fiancee. And I think I can promise you then 
 that, year by year, instead of the customary de- 
 terioration of feeling, yours will intensify. One 
 could not live -with Gillette and not adore her. 
 Also she will make you a better man, dear friend, 
 for one could not live with her, either, and not 
 grow to desire goodness. I must stop. Maxime 
 will be here in a few minutes, and I want to 
 look a pretty lady when he comes. 
 
 "Your old friend about to be a wife, 
 
 "ELLICE." 
 
 He read the letter through, conscious that if it 
 were for the salvation of his life he could not re- 
 read a line. Every word heated his flesh. The 
 unexpectedness of the blow, moreover, crushed 
 with a concentrated weight. Ellice, who was to
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 97 
 
 have been like a dainty bride in her white room, 
 had suddenly spoiled everything. True, he had 
 told her to marry. He damned his own obtuse- 
 ness. Why, the future was to have been all El- 
 lice! And now she was engaged and happily 
 to be married. The completing goad of the whole 
 communication was that he did not know how 
 much of it to believe. One moment he took the 
 letter for a diabolical, deliberate sword-thrust 
 a lie as to feeling from beginning to end; the 
 next he could not. Its statements were too 
 unequivocal. Besides, the paragraph as regards 
 her friend rang true enough. Could one slip like 
 that from rank dissimulation to pure sincerity? 
 Certainly he felt quite capable of such an achieve- 
 ment himself, but to find a similar capacity in a 
 young and lovable woman was horrible. Rising 
 hastily from the table, he tore the letter piece- 
 meal and flung it into the slop-basin. Yes, some 
 of it was undoubtedly intentional. "About to be 
 a -wife!" That had been -written with fore- 
 thought. Physically sick, he went and leaned 
 against the woodwork of the door leading into 
 the garden, possessed by a desire to throw him- 
 self face downward somewhere in order not to 
 enunciate senseless abuse and remonstrance. 
 
 Ellice, Ellice, little Ellice! He wanted to take 
 her in his arms and coax her back into the mood 
 he worshipped. And suddenly it flashed upon his 
 mind that but for him this would never have hap- 
 pened. Good God! what had he done? Ellice 
 another man's wife ! The force of the revelation 
 increased perpetually. He went out and walked 
 7
 
 98 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 up and down under the trees with a face scarcely 
 sane-looking. 
 
 What a fool he had been! For he wanted her 
 himself. Brusquely, everything shrivelled up that 
 concealed the naked facts. For a second he stood 
 still as if a streak of lightning had torn down the 
 sky in front of him. In truth, for that space of 
 time comprehension was like a blinding light, in- 
 tolerable in its intensity. He wanted Ellice him- 
 self. Whether the words "another man's wife" 
 had revealed a desire long existing undiscovered 
 within him, or whether they constituted the fuse 
 igniting a sudden passion, he did not know. He 
 was only conscious that the lucidness of the 
 abrupt discovery left him gasping, with a rigid 
 smile upon his lips, whose bitterness seemed fallen 
 paralyzed into his face. No, he could not have 
 loved her in the past; the value of his fantastic 
 reluctance was so much lying balderdash. De- 
 liberately not to marry the woman one loved 
 the thing was impossible. He had admired, been 
 fascinated, chained year after year by an aesthetic 
 appreciation, but he had not loved her. Now 
 frantic, insensate, resistless passion swept over 
 him. His -whole being became absorbed in one 
 embittered fury and desire. He stood still on the 
 pathway and felt madness lurk near to him. 
 
 With an immense effort he forced himself to re- 
 turn to the house. At his age emotional agonies 
 were imbecile. But from the beginning the Ellice 
 episode had been grotesque, and this last climax 
 was a fitting close to it. He emerged from the 
 affair ridiculous.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 99 
 
 He went to his own room, and tried to immerse 
 himself in letters. As he wrote, the phrase "about 
 to be a wife" perpetually arose between him and 
 the paper. He saw it clearly, as if written upon 
 the page he endeavored to cover. Gradually in- 
 timate pictures mastered his will to reject them. 
 He could not keep himself from looking at the 
 visions flung into him by imagination. With an 
 evil-looking smile he abandoned himself at last. 
 Like a concealed witness, his mind sneaked into 
 the privacy of Ellice's future life, and in its vile 
 intrusion felt as if dying minute by minute, with- 
 out yet possessing the strength to crawl away 
 from the scenes that murdered. His closed hands 
 lay motionless upon the writing-table. With his 
 head strained forward, he gazed at the panorama 
 of his brain. Then brusquely, without prepara- 
 tion, endurance snapped. Uttering a vague sound 
 like an inarticulate curse, he dropped his head 
 into his hands. He was beaten; agony had 
 proved the stronger of the two.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 How he got through the month that preceded 
 his -wedding Spenser could never afterward re- 
 alize. Certainly a kind of stupor dulled sensa- 
 tion. For several days following upon Ellice's 
 letter he remained at Rook House, hour after 
 hour endeavoring to rid himself of the insane re- 
 vulsion that had seized him toward everything. 
 On the following Monday the workmen entered 
 the house, and his desire to eject the whole lot 
 was so strong that he found himself compelled 
 to avoid that part of the building upon which 
 they had commenced operations. Once or twice 
 he decided to write to Gillette, putting an end 
 to the engagement, and then to start that same 
 night for a long tour abroad. The thought of 
 having this woman always at his side, with a 
 right to break into any silence she liked, to join 
 him at any moment she chose, and to be consid- 
 ered in every plan he made, froze his blood. He 
 was prevented by recurring periods of reaction 
 when the excess of feeling subsided, and he could 
 sneer at his own obsession. At these times he 
 viewed both Gillette and his marriage with an 
 equal indifference. To break it off would neces- 
 sitate an indefinite number of disagreeable scenes, 
 and would give the poor girl also a devilish 
 amount of pain. A quoi bon? His ill-health 
 would always be an easy blind to excuse his
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 101 
 
 shortcomings afterward ; and if she only proved 
 reasonable, to be miserable with money would 
 be at least preferable to being miserable without. 
 
 Two things, however, he could not for days 
 bring himself to do answer Ellice's letter or see 
 his fiancee. To the latter he sent each day some 
 fresh excuse, paltry enough for the most part, 
 each time hoping that by the following day he 
 would feel fit to endure her society. As for the 
 customary letter of congratulation to the other, 
 he no sooner took a pen into his hand than his 
 brain extended with the rancor that rushed into 
 his head. For no reason that he could justify, 
 he was pursued at this period with a desire to 
 abuse and vituperate her, to pour out in a tor- 
 rent of words the bitterness accumulated since 
 the finality of her letter. After four days of this 
 solitude four days full of useless, resentful regret 
 there came a letter from Gillette that helped 
 to pull him together somewhat. She was afraid 
 he concealed an attack of his old malarial fever 
 from her, and proposed coming to Rook House 
 for the day with her mother. 
 
 He received this in the morning. In the after- 
 noon he went down to the Riverside House. Be- 
 fore starting he dosed himself with a strong meas- 
 ure of bromide of potassium. Without it he felt 
 his nerves unequal to the strain. Ellice he had 
 still not written to. Gillette, whom he had fore- 
 seen in the train falling demonstratively into his 
 arms, received him, to his unutterable relief, very 
 quietly. Almost immediately, however, she re- 
 ferred to the other's engagement. They had no
 
 102 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 sooner seated themselves by the edge of the water 
 than she asked if he had heard. He replied that 
 Miss Bastien had written and communicated the 
 fact to him. Instantly Gillette became eager to 
 discuss the matter. Mr. Newngham was a stran- 
 ger to her. 
 
 "Is he the right man for Ellice?" she asked 
 anxiously, leaning toward him in her absorption. 
 
 "No," replied Spenser shortly, gripped by a 
 vision of his rival, whose cheery good looks were 
 incontestable. 
 
 Gillette sank back against her seat again, sur- 
 prised and distressed. 
 
 "No? Oh, George, what kind of man is he? 
 Won't he be good to her? For he worships El- 
 lice now. Her aunt told me yesterday he has 
 been in love with her for years. And they seem 
 so happy together, like two children. I have 
 never seen Ellice so excited. What makes you 
 think, dear, he is not the right man? Nobody 
 could look kinder." 
 
 "My dear little girl, why do you wear winter 
 dresses in the summer? And there is nothing in 
 this world more hideous than a coat and skirt. 
 Femininity should be the first essential of any 
 woman' s dressing." 
 
 He could not help it. His nerves refused to 
 deal immediately with this question of Ellice' s 
 fiance, and an attack upon his companion's cloth- 
 ing eased him slightly. She really made herself 
 so unnecessarily hideous to look at. At least, 
 in the future she must be taught to garb herself 
 decently. And Ellice was happy in love. Had
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 103 
 
 she in truth, too, suddenly been set on fire? After 
 his own abrupt ignition anything was oossible. 
 Why not she as well as he? But, on the other 
 hand, such an accident would hardly occur twice. 
 No, if she loved, it was an old affair, and the girl 
 was nothing more than a charlatan a woman 
 like the majority, unable to exist without ad- 
 mirers, without intrigue, without a dozen secret 
 flirtations. 
 
 Gillette, meanwhile, had reddened to the brim 
 of her large-brimmed sailor hat. There had been 
 something brutal in his manner, and she felt 
 wounded and ashamed, without knowing clearly 
 why his disapprobation roused so much pain in 
 her. She did not answer immediately, though 
 for one moment she had forgotten Ellice. Finally 
 she replied, and the suspicion of checked tears 
 emanating from her voice angered the other 
 afresh. 
 
 "I am so sorry you are vexed with me. I will 
 try and dress better. But won't you love me as 
 I am? Dear, even in nice clothes, I am always 
 ugly." 
 
 "Great Scott!" groaned Spenser inwardly, 
 "what a pitiable fool!" 
 
 A cowed child was about as exciting to deal 
 with. However, anything to avoid the Ellice 
 subject. With an extreme mental effort, therefore, 
 he resumed a tender manner, and propounded his 
 views as to the manner of dress pleasing to him 
 in his wife. Above all, she was in the future to 
 wear her hair waved, and dressed widely round 
 the face. If she must retain the plain coil at the
 
 104 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 back, she might at least, surely, without twinge 
 of conscience, satisfy her husband by a softer 
 treatment of the forehead. 
 
 Gillette listened with perturbed eyes. A name- 
 less fear agitated her. Was this the first faltering 
 step in spiritual denials? Conflicting theories 
 fought within her. Did the words "submissive 
 in all things to one's husband" include submis- 
 sion in a trivial alteration of this kind? She 
 could not decide hastily; and when Spenser had 
 finished enumerating the more important of his 
 wishes, they lapsed into silence. 
 
 Gillette broke it finally by a return to the sub- 
 ject of Ellice. Once more she reiterated her ques- 
 tion as to his reasons for believing the newly 
 engaged couple to be ill-suited. 
 
 This time he was prepared. Sooner or later 
 she would naturally return to the old query. He 
 had laid himself open to it by his own idiotic 
 want of control. 
 
 " Little woman, to tell you the truth, I simply 
 said 'No' without thinking of the subject at all. 
 My mind was occupied in planning out just the 
 right dinner-gown for you this winter. Your 
 sudden question irritated by rudely breaking up 
 one's thoughts of the future. I said 'No' purely 
 haphazard to be rid of the trouble of going into 
 the subject. There, now you know the bad-tem- 
 pered, crotchety husband waiting for you, little 
 one." 
 
 She believed him, of course. It was a nature 
 too honest itself ever to suspect the veracity of 
 another. No one, indeed, saw more good in hu-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 105 
 
 inanity than Gillette. Overwhelming evidence was 
 necessary before her mind could grasp the possi- 
 bility of any character not having noble and 
 upright intentions. To fail through temporary 
 weakness was the only cause of sin the girl gen- 
 uinely comprehended. 
 
 After Spenser's explanation calm and peace more 
 or less returned to her. And Ellice was happy, 
 Gillette never for an instant doubting this to be 
 the close of the other's long, secret love affair. 
 To both happiness had graciously come at the 
 same time. For in her own engagement she had 
 only one wish to give. If she could render her 
 lover happy, her whole desire proved satisfied. 
 
 During the interval preceding their wedding- 
 day, however, she saw little of him, though of 
 Ellice, happily, a good deal. Since the engage- 
 ment of the latter the old closeness of their in- 
 timacy re-established itself without a word. It 
 was to Ellice Gillette confided her difficulties as 
 regards dress. And it was the latter who se- 
 lected the quite charming, though quite unosten- 
 tatious, trousseau. Of Ellice' s happiness at this 
 time Gillette felt no doubt. Never had she been 
 so excited, so gay, so full of tender laughter. 
 
 As the day drew near, and Gillette's confidence 
 sank to the undefined trouble of the approach- 
 ing bride, Ellice remained always with her. The 
 night before the wedding-day they cried them- 
 selves to sleep in each other's arms. It was El- 
 lice, moreover, who dressed the bride next morn- 
 ing. She was the last to kiss the agitated girl 
 before the veil fell finally over her face, and this
 
 106 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 in spite of the fact that she had risen in the morn- 
 ing with such an overpowering headache that 
 attendance at the ceremony became out of the 
 question. Indeed, Gillette never remembered see- 
 ing her look so ill during all the years of their 
 friendship. But the explanation was easy enough 
 to find : Ellice, with her great big heart, had 
 worked herself to death that she, Gillette, might 
 be fresh upon her wedding morning. All the day 
 before, and until late in the evening, she and the 
 tall, kindly Maxime had been busy with arrange- 
 ments. Though it filled her with self-reproach 
 and sorrow, Gillette, therefore, felt little surprise 
 at this reaction, while, even as it was, though 
 barely able to keep upon her feet, Ellice refused 
 to allow any one else to handle the delicate white 
 array that was to be the last robing of Gillette's 
 girlhood. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair, purposely ready early, was, how- 
 ever, also present during this dressing, and, a 
 little hysterical at her daughter's expressive white- 
 ness, she filled the time with anxious exhortations, 
 stricken at the last moment with penetrating 
 dread, like a wet atmosphere entering into the lungs. 
 
 "My dearie, remember you can't make men 
 angels, won't you?" she repeated over and over 
 again, snuffling slightly with her nose in an im- 
 mense bouquet of mauve orchids. "Oh, Gee-Gee 
 dear, I do hope you will be happy, and that 
 you won't ask too much. You see, child, men 
 must be human, and if you'll only let 'em be that, 
 they'll like you well enough in their own fashion." 
 
 Ellice meanwhile was silently flinging the great
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 107 
 
 tremulous-looking veil over the other's head, 
 while Gillette stood with slow tears glittering 
 upon her lowered eyelashes. They scarcely heard, 
 these two, the anxious statements of the elder 
 woman, rustling her palma silk gown restlessly 
 about Gillette's bedroom. Timid hope and fear 
 lay twined together in the coming bride's breast 
 hope that came uncontrollably for a fulness of 
 joy impossible in the single life of girlhood, and 
 fear lest she might fail in bringing happiness. It 
 was a moment of deep solemnity, and, while the 
 other softly arranged the shimmering net that 
 covered her, Gillette prayed that this approach- 
 ing service might indeed be the symbol and begin- 
 ning of a new life, white as the robe and flowers 
 they swathed her in for its commencement. 
 
 Only Ellice of them all that morning seemed 
 close to her. As the other silently brought her, 
 one after the other, the clothes she was to dress 
 herself in, she felt as if their unity had never been 
 so great. Ellice seemed unable to speak, but Gil- 
 lette was conscious that each silent service over- 
 flowed with burning tenderness. When at last 
 Gillette stood ready to go down, the almost 
 blue-colored lips smiled at her with an attempt 
 at their old gayety. 
 
 "I have never seen you look so well, sweet," 
 she said. "Your hair worn like this makes you 
 look charming." 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair then kissed her daughter, tears of 
 genuine regret at their approaching separation 
 dropping upon the abundant rouge. 
 
 "Oh, I do hope you will be happy," she re-
 
 108 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 peated again, futile terrors for the future still 
 assailing her. "Don't be too particular, there's 
 a dear girl. Oh, child, believe me" and she turned 
 involuntarily to Ellice as the one most likely to 
 grasp her meaning "if you want to keep the 
 average man you must make him feel able to be 
 at his worst with you. Let 'im realize that he 
 can just be 'imself what the French call sans 
 gene and then, if you make much of him and 
 keep your temper, he'll just dote on you. It's 
 the women men have to keep shamming to that 
 they get tired of. It's no good: you've got to 
 be a man's mistress and his wife in one if you 
 don't want 'im to find the bargain thin." 
 
 Gillette had turned, and was taking a silent 
 farewell of the room that held so many solemn 
 memories of her girlhood. Ellice, out of whose 
 face the living expression appeared to ooze min- 
 ute by minute, stood holding on to the foot of 
 Gillette's bedstead. Mrs. Sinclair glanced wistfully 
 at her daughter. Then, wiping the tears moisten- 
 ing her cheeks, she added, apparently to Ellice : 
 
 "My dear, the average man is no saint. Don't 
 ask him to be; that's the way to have power. 
 Then, if you can't be amusing, at least be cheery ; 
 pretend to like what he wants you to like, and 
 there you are. It isn't a very nice kind of plan, 
 perhaps ; but, then, since a woman can't do with- 
 out a man, take my advice and put yourself to 
 a little trouble to keep the one you've chosen. 
 Both mine adored me; but, my goodie, what a 
 strain! You see, it was a case of letting them 
 always be in carpet slippers, and me, in a manner
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 109 
 
 of speaking, of course, in full dress. Well, well, 
 I had the vitality, and liked being made love to. 
 But, now, this marriage well, it seems to have 
 made a grannie of me already. Gillette, do you 
 know, your mother thinks of letting herself get 
 old, and sitting by the fire for the rest of her 
 days with a love-sick novel." 
 
 At that moment there was a knock at the door. 
 Ellice went to see what it signified. 
 
 "Dear," she said, "the carriage is at the door. 
 They are waiting for you to start." 
 
 The two girls clung to each other's hands for 
 a minute ; then Gillette slowly followed her mother 
 down the passage. 
 
 Ellice, from the window, watched the carriage 
 drive out of the gates. When it had gone she 
 turned back into the room, and suddenly burst 
 into a peal of laughter. It had the sound of mad- 
 ness, so complete was its uncontrol, so insup- 
 portable its anguish. The jangling of furiously 
 rung bells could not have equalled its discordant 
 wildness. Suddenly it ceased. With the helpless 
 gestures of a blind person, the girl flung herself 
 upon the bed. She had laughed, but she had 
 not wept. The outburst that saved the brain 
 congesting was over, and her eyes were dry. A 
 bitter smile travelled across her lips. 
 
 "No, you never caused me a tear, George," she 
 said silently. "Your conscience must be very 
 easy. Why, you can say, with truth, you never 
 brought a tear into my eyes. Truly, you have 
 something to be proud of. Men are so apt, they 
 say, to make those that love them weep for it."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 The first four weeks of his married life Spenser 
 found, on the whole, to be less unpleasant than 
 he had expected. They travelled incessantly, first 
 in Switzerland and then in the Tyrol, the con- 
 stant activity pacifying the restlessness that pos- 
 sessed him. Whenever he succumbed to a dull 
 antipathy to Gillette, he proposed another move, 
 and in the change of scene and reorganizing of 
 arrangements shook off the obsession. 
 
 Very frequently, moreover, he found himself 
 agreeably surprised in her. She received impres- 
 sions with astounding avidity, and entered so 
 heartily into the pleasure of every expedition 
 that once or twice Spenser felt almost attracted. 
 Her religious scruples occasionally annoyed him, 
 but her vegetarianism proved less trouble than he 
 had anticipated. Under difficulties she remained 
 cheery, composed, enduring. Moreover, when 
 once at home with him, she proved by no means 
 destitute of common sense. She had, even, now 
 and then an underlying humor that charmed him 
 against his will. 
 
 Later on he foresaw antagonism would be in- 
 evitable. What he could bear for a short period 
 would be insufferable for perpetuity her appear- 
 ance, her tendency to halt between her words, 
 her inflexible conscience, her habit of sitting like 
 a fat old woman. But at the present she was un-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 111 
 
 doubtedly happy, and the fact touched him. If, 
 inevitably, he must make her suffer later on, at 
 least she should have this little interlude if he 
 could give it to her. And -with a semi-paternal 
 feeling he paid her the trivial attentions she treas- 
 ured so greatly, especially if there were flowers 
 to be had keeping her rooms embowered in great 
 market bouquets of them. 
 
 In actual caresses he could not force himself to 
 be equally generous, but Gillette was both too 
 unversed in the ways of lovers and too humble 
 to realize deprivation. She was very grateful to 
 him during the days of their honeymoon, and 
 happy only not so happy as her husband sup- 
 posed. Day by day she grew more certain that 
 she was no companion to this man. They had 
 plenty to talk of at present, the places they saw, 
 for instance, the people they met, the episodes of 
 their journey. But he never thought aloud with 
 her; she felt drearily he could not. Indeed, once 
 already he had confessed that there was no subject 
 worth discussing with her, since all intellectual 
 speculation was closed by impossible dogmas, 
 Practically, she did no thinking for herself. 
 
 The last statement was, however, very far from 
 true. Gillette's brain was anything but atrophied 
 by disuse; and before a month had passed since 
 their marriage, though she still relied upon the 
 sincerity of his affection, she knew herself to have 
 been in some things deliberately deceived by him. 
 For almost without reflection Spenser rapidly 
 dropped the minor deceptions of primary days. 
 The strain of keeping up the main force of ten-
 
 112 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 derness he felt as much as he could accomplish. 
 He ceased to pretend any interest, therefore, in 
 the scheme of Gillette's life a country home for 
 poor children. Also he ceased to hoax upon the 
 fascination supposed to have been exercised by 
 her goodness. It was, in fact, the first deception 
 he hastened to disburden himself of. They had 
 been away three weeks, when he exclaimed one 
 morning : 
 
 "My dear little girl, no religious talk, I beg. 
 If you want me to continue your lover, don't 
 keep basting me with sanctimonious phrases. 
 You will kill me if you do." 
 
 Into her eyes instantly had risen an anguished 
 protest against his past deceit. She could not 
 find explanatory words, however, and Gillette's 
 facial expressions rarely appealed to her husband. 
 Fortunately he felt that, having now made clear 
 what was necessary, a tranquillizing statement 
 would be only politic as conclusion. They were 
 having their petit dejeuner at the time in Gil- 
 lette's bedroom, and the tears swimming across 
 the girl's eyes threatened to herald more. He 
 broke a piece of his roll and flung it gently at 
 her. 
 
 "Gillette Gillette she was so hard to win, 
 and I wanted her so much. It was very wicked, 
 of course ; but, then, a little lady I know would 
 have listened to nothing else. And now Gillette 
 is the dear but tearful little wife who has made 
 a sick man whole, or will if she does not cry, 
 and if she will only ask God to make him good, 
 instead of asking him direct. It is, after all, the
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 113 
 
 safest way to go to headquarters. Besides, ex- 
 ample is better than precept. Be my example, 
 Gillette, but, for pity's sake, do not be my chap- 
 lain." 
 
 The tearful example had risen from table be- 
 fore the end of his speech. Her prominent idea 
 at the moment was to suppress her tears, in 
 order to avoid annoying him. But she felt as if 
 the crumb flicked at her fell heavily as a stone 
 upon her chest. The room had striped, claret- 
 colored red paper, and its dark surface became 
 suddenly oppressive. She went to the window to 
 fling open the green shutters, still closed from 
 the night. As she made a movement to push 
 them apart, however, Spenser came behind, and, 
 putting his arms round her full bust, rubbed his 
 head caressingly against hers. The action, so 
 intimate and so new in character to her, mud- 
 dled reflection. It was very sweet to be cajoled 
 in such a fashion, and if he loved her the motive 
 of their marriage still continued valid. She re- 
 mained essential for his happiness, and for his 
 soul, in truth, he was right. God answered im- 
 portunate prayer the prayer that is as drops 
 of the suppliant's life-blood in its intensity. And 
 more than ever she must labor to be better, 
 nobler in action, more spiritual in desire, more 
 truly a giver-out of sweetness and peace. 
 
 She made no scene, therefore, smiled at him, 
 and returned to her coffee and rolls at the little 
 round table near the bed. But some of the magic 
 illusion had been brushed from her marriage. Un- 
 easy doubt tore little rents in the smooth sur- 
 8
 
 114 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 face of her trust. The man she loved had lied to 
 her. To forgive was easy, but the fact remained 
 like a floating spot of grease upon pure water. 
 
 From Ellice, meanwhile, she had heard nothing. 
 Several poste-restante addresses had been given 
 to her, but Spenser's frequently accelerated jour- 
 neyings caused them again and again to miss 
 their correspondence. Before starting homeward, 
 therefore, Gillette wrote, explaining that no letter 
 had been received, and begging for a little note 
 of welcome to await them on the return to Rook 
 House. She inquired also the date of the coming 
 wedding. Maxime had told her privately, the 
 day before her own, that, like George, he should 
 find a month as much as he could bear. 
 
 Of Ellice to her husband she spoke less than 
 she desired. He liked Miss Bastien, apparently, 
 but with the indifference of a person to whom 
 women are of no real interest. He had not the 
 least objection to the girl, but conversation about 
 her bored him. 
 
 As a matter of fact, all talk of Ellice from his 
 wife flagellated his nerves. He detested to hear 
 even her name upon the lips of this other woman. 
 She said the word glibly, familiarly, and every 
 time he felt it as the same outrageous liberty. 
 Ellice was like a scar hidden, smothered under 
 many thicknesses within his breast. Her mere 
 name dragged promiscuously into conversation 
 affected him like an exposure of private memories. 
 He had sense enough, however, to avoid any dis- 
 play of active dislike, striving for a manner tem- 
 perately indifferent, in the hope that later on the
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 115 
 
 coolness simulated might come to be a pleasant 
 reality. Ellice, as a fetntne marine, he intended 
 not to know at all if possible. She was in love ; 
 she did not concern him, therefore. When Gil- 
 lette invited the two down on a visit, it should 
 be during his many absences abroad. 
 
 They arrived at Rook House in the evening. 
 In the hall a huge fire had been lit, and while 
 they stood warming themselves by it, the foot- 
 man, engaged by Mrs. Sinclair for them in their 
 absence, handed Spenser a pile of letters and cir- 
 culars. 
 
 "May I take mine from them?" Gillette asked, 
 putting a hand out toward the bundle of enve- 
 lopes he held. 
 
 "Come in, then, and read them," qnswered the 
 other, taking her affectionately enough by the 
 arm toward the open door of the library. 
 
 A big fire played over the furniture there also. 
 Gillette, cold from the journey, sank on to the 
 rug, and, with her legs drawn up under her, read 
 the letters Spenser had flung into her lap. Sitting 
 in the arm-chair behind her, he heard the excla- 
 mation, "Ah, Ellice! "at one, and hoped, though he 
 felt it absurd, that she would refrain from open- 
 ing the letter until he was well immersed in his 
 own correspondence. 
 
 He received nothing interesting, however, and 
 was perfectly aware when Gillette came to the 
 envelope bearing Ellice's handwriting. As he 
 opened a packet containing the circular of a 
 seedsman he occasionally dealt with, moreover, 
 an incoherent exclamation from the figure on the
 
 116 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 rug finally arrested his attention. Gillette's face 
 had grown crimson, and her lips moved nervously 
 as she read. An indefinite excitement, like a cur- 
 rent issuing from her person, passed into Spenser. 
 To ask what was the matter he felt impossible. 
 At the same time, his desire to be told had grown 
 already intense. 
 
 "Oh, George!" exclaimed Gillette suddenly, look- 
 ing up at him through a haze of tears. 
 
 "Well, what's the matter? Why, you look like 
 a peony!" 
 
 The abrupt irritability of his manner astonished 
 Gillette, and, before replying, she gazed at him 
 with an involuntary stare of surprise. He gave 
 the impression of suppressing with difficulty an 
 extreme, agitated excitement. Had he, too, re- 
 ceived bad news? 
 
 "Oh, George," she repeated, "my friend Ellice! 
 I have such bad news!" 
 
 "You idiot!" silently ejaculated the man. He 
 was suffocating with curiosity, and she kept him 
 in suspense with the persistence of deliberate 
 malice. "Well, is she ill? What has happened?" 
 
 "She has broken off her engagement." 
 
 Gillette added something else which he did not 
 hear. Intelligence had rushed headlong to seize 
 and grasp the whole meaning of this one preg- 
 nant sentence Ellice was not to be married. He 
 felt the blood leave his body and boil in his head. 
 The fire spread in an indefinite blur of red over 
 the entire fireplace; the marble became incan- 
 descent. He experienced a sense of being in too 
 small a place, and yet of being unable to make
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 117 
 
 a movement to get out of it. Ellice was not 
 going to be any man's wife! Waves of heat com- 
 pressed his brain, but suddenly with a frantic 
 leap it seemed to emerge from them, and he un- 
 derstood and felt both. Good heavens! how he 
 had been tricked and fooled by Destiny, or by 
 his own asinine obtuseness! Until this woman 
 had been no longer free he had not desired her. 
 Now, too late had he known this evening's news 
 one day before his wedding, nothing on earth 
 would have induced him to proceed with it she 
 had freed herself once more. But for Gillette he 
 would possess her at last, glory in her as his 
 wife, live only for and through her. 
 
 "George, you look so strange you have had 
 bad news? Oh, and I bother you with mine! 
 Forgive me, dear." 
 
 Gillette rose from her knees and laid her head 
 gently against his shoulder. He felt physical 
 nausea, but left her there. Even a repulse would 
 cost more effort than he had will to make. 
 
 The dressing-gong sounded at that moment. 
 Spenser reached forward to try and touch the 
 bell-rope hanging by the fireplace. Instantly Gil- 
 lette rushed and did it for him. 
 
 "What is it you want, dear?" she asked, filled 
 with alarm. 
 
 So unusual did he look, the satisfaction of her 
 home-coming died in a sense of dual troubles 
 EUice's letter and her husband's sudden, extraor- 
 dinary behavior. A footman answered the bell. 
 
 "Bring me a brandy-and-soda at once," ordered 
 Spenser curtly.
 
 118 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 He was a man of extremely temperate habits, 
 but by instinct more than by deliberate reflec- 
 tion he felt that no precaution would be too great 
 now that concealed any effect caused in him by 
 the Ellice subject. A strong dose of brandy would 
 pull his nerves together, and give him back the 
 perspicacity to humbug the fussy creature staring 
 at him from the hearth-rug with as much pitying 
 alarm as if he had suddenly been seized with a 
 fit of apoplexy. Moreover, by some strategic 
 means he must contrive to see all that Ellice had 
 written. He knew it imperative that he should 
 know what motives she gave. It seemed strange 
 to realize how little she understood what a \vreck 
 she had made of his life. Or did she know? Was 
 there a devil hidden behind that smiling, childish 
 face, with its eager upturned pose, as if alwaj^s 
 half expectant, always half attentive to some- 
 thing whispered unseen into her ear? Oh, that 
 hair, too, swept back off the low forehead! it 
 gave the impression of a hand just passed over 
 it in order better to see the white brow and the 
 blue veins upon the temples. An occasional look 
 in her eyes recurred to him at that moment. It 
 was not the careless, joyous expression normal 
 to her. The head would be upturned, the mouth 
 exquisite, sweet, impossible to keep away from. 
 But the eyes, half closed, would be turned a little 
 sideways, and be as if dwelling upon some secret 
 knowledge, weighing it, and taking account of 
 its nature. What did she think of, when she 
 looked like that? 
 
 He had often wondered, and now, as he sat
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 119 
 
 waiting for the man to return with his order, 
 the recollection pierced him with doubts. She 
 was capable of any callous scheme of conduct. 
 There could not be so much guarded in any wom- 
 an's eyes, unless she thought much, reserved much, 
 concealed much. 
 
 The brandy and a siphon of seltzer were brought 
 and put on a carved table at Spenser's side. Gil- 
 lette had hastily taken off her hat and veil, and, 
 with Ellice's letter in one hand and her felt travel- 
 ling hat in the other, anxiously watched her hus- 
 band. He drank first; then he made a careless 
 movement toward the letter. 
 
 "So Ellice Bastien has broken off her engage- 
 ment, has she? What the devil forgive me, my 
 dear, a mere lapsus linguae has she done that 
 for?" 
 
 Gillette glanced miserably at a sentence of the 
 letter. 
 
 "I cannot understand. She seemed so happy; 
 and I know at least, I think she has cared for 
 him for a very long while. And she writes that 
 she is greatly troubled, but as the time drew near 
 for the wedding she realized a great mistake had 
 been made : she did not love enough for marriage. 
 It is quite over: he is gone back to his regiment 
 at Cairo. And now she seems so sad." 
 
 "My dear girl, don't begin to cry; it's simple 
 idiocy to do that. Miss Bastien is not dead. 
 There is, therefore, no need to flood the house 
 with tears by way of entry into it. And, really, 
 I cannot see the great tragedy in a broken en- 
 gagement, when it is the lady who has grown
 
 120 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 averse to marriage. There, there, silly child! let 
 her husband dry her eyes for her." 
 
 When he had hastily wiped her moist cheeks 
 -with his handkerchief, he took another gulp of 
 the drink by his side. Obviously, she did not in- 
 tend to show him the letter, and a curiosity, pain- 
 ful, dominating, disproportionate, took possession 
 of him. He wanted to see how Ellice wrote to 
 other people, how she revealed herself to them, 
 and what, above all, she had communicated upon 
 this pitiable subject. He wondered if Gillette 
 could be tricked into leaving the letter behind 
 while she went to dress. Jealousy over her pos- 
 session of it devoured him, while along with his 
 ideas of how best to get the thing from her, 
 buzzed in his brain a confused sense of having 
 in a few minutes been made bitter to the mar- 
 row of his bones bitter and disquieted. Ellice 
 married, himself married well, it had been a 
 definite misery, invariable in its nature, and there- 
 fore gradually a thing likely to become uncon- 
 scious. Ellice unmarried genuinely the thought 
 terrified him, so uncontrollable was the mad sug- 
 gestion it sent red-hot through his system, the 
 evil possibilities it shot like tongues of flame into 
 his brain. Ellice free no, any vile action as re- 
 gards her would be too ghastly. He got up to 
 shake himself loose from the ruminations that 
 assailed him, and leaned against the marble man- 
 telpiece. The movement appeared to cool his 
 head. All sinister temptations left him. 
 
 "My dear, we shall be late for dinner. Let us 
 go and dress."
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 121 
 
 He felt that everything was altered; nothing 
 wore the aspect it has when they entered the 
 house less than an hour ago. Intense excitement 
 decimated boredom, an excitement, however, un- 
 healthy, devouring, impossible to endure indefi- 
 nitely. Toward Gillette, nevertheless, to his sur- 
 prise, he experienced no change of feeling. That 
 he had not been seized by a dangerous repulsion 
 astonished him; for it was only she who now 
 stood between him and the flower of his life. 
 But justice on this one subject remained so far 
 curiously unimpaired. He told himself she was a 
 good creature, the greatest puppet of them all, 
 perhaps, in the present sorry mess made by Des- 
 tiny. He even helped her up the stairs by an 
 arm placed round her waist. As he mounted in- 
 telligence cleared second by second. Ellice's letter 
 had rendered the future an hour ago quite ob- 
 vious potential with power to bring forth any- 
 thing. Indefinite anticipation floated in the at- 
 mosphere. Suddenly the entire surface of his flesh 
 tingled and grew conscious. Ellice now would 
 come and stay with them. 
 
 He formulated nothing now, merely aware that 
 an object had been restored to his existence. He 
 left Gillette at her bedroom door. 
 
 "I sha'n't be long," she said, with a smile of 
 more than ordinary gentleness. 
 
 He remembered then that he would have to 
 talk to her at dinner, and bear in mind besides 
 that it was her first meal there, her bride's din- 
 ner, as it were. The statement of that fact shone 
 in her face and expression.
 
 122 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 He wondered if he could do it, pretending en- 
 grossment and paying the delicate flattering at- 
 tentions he knew so novel and so bewitching to 
 her. For an hour or so, yes. Then he must be 
 alone with thoughts of Ellice.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 From that evening the miseries he had previ- 
 ously foreseen for Gillette commenced. Each day 
 after the arrival of Ellice's letter Spenser proved 
 more and more unsatisfactory as a husband. He 
 was possessed by one idea to have Ellice down 
 to Rook House and learn absolutely the state 
 of her feelings. But he was also filled with an 
 exaggerated sense of the necessity for caution. 
 For Gillette to suspect any previous intimacy 
 between this other woman and himself would 
 be, he felt, on the least provocation to arouse 
 in her ideas of the utmost danger to his future 
 friendship with Ellice. He had at first decided 
 to write to the latter himself upon the subject 
 of her broken engagement. In the middle of 
 writing the letter he tore it up. She had not 
 chosen to communicate the fact to him person- 
 ally. Was that circumstance, therefore, intended 
 as a sign that she considered all familiarity at 
 an end between them from the time of his mar- 
 riage to Gillette? If so, she was capable of an- 
 swering him by message in a letter to Gillette 
 herself. She was capable of so much, besides 
 possessing very stringent notions of what con- 
 stituted loyalty to her friend. 
 
 As regards this latter question, he had already 
 formed a theory admirable in its simplicity. The
 
 124 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 person most loved was the person whose claim 
 should be paramount. Ellice must first be made 
 to understand that he was the individual dear- 
 est to her on earth. And then, this fact being 
 acknowledged, that it remained her woman's 
 duty to sacrifice everything, everybody, herself 
 included, for the happiness of the beloved. Of 
 his capacity amply to compensate her he did not 
 feel a doubt. 
 
 Having concluded, however, not to write, an 
 immediate visit from her became doubly impera- 
 tive. His one difficulty became, how to propose 
 naturally that Ellice should be asked to pay them 
 a visit. The thing seemed easy enough to do. 
 Nevertheless, he found himself perpetually phras- 
 ing the suggestion in silence, utterly unable to 
 say it out loud. It appeared to him that the 
 ghastly nature of the unnecessary barrier now 
 separating himself and Ellice had given birth to 
 an incomprehensible sentimentality as regards 
 everything to do with the one real love-affair of 
 his life. It hampered him by a reluctance even 
 to utter the girl's name in the presence of Gil- 
 lette. 
 
 Three days passed during which his poor com- 
 panion was made aware that she seldom opened 
 her mouth without being offensive to him. Then 
 at last the suggestion found utterance. Dinner 
 was being served at a round table in the library. 
 The journey or the damp weather had given Spen- 
 ser a cold. He felt his chest contracted, a little 
 dry cough cut like a lash applied in wardly. Gil- 
 lette, full of solicitous forethought, had suggested
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 125 
 
 diffidently their avoiding the chill atmosphere of 
 the immense dining-room. He assented with an 
 unexpected amiability, the desire to put an end 
 to the present uncertainty having risen to a fever- 
 ish intensity. And at the end of dinner, rising 
 with an elaborate carelessness from the table, 
 he remarked indifferently: 
 
 ' By-the-by, have you heard from your friend 
 again lately the vacillating Miss Bastien, I 
 mean?" 
 
 Gillette was still enjoying the pleasure of his 
 restored good-humor. She had grown during the 
 last few days to dread the most simple of her 
 own statements, so inflammable did they seem 
 to the quick temper of her husband. And even 
 now she searched anxiously for a secure answer, 
 so great, apparently, was the possibility of giv- 
 ing unconscious pain. 
 
 ' Yes, I heard yesterday. She is not very well, 
 I think." 
 
 "Oh what is the matter with her?" 
 
 He appeared to speak inattentively, occupied 
 with the index of a book on Anarchy he intended 
 reading, but his manner was kindly and pleasant. 
 Gillette took courage. 
 
 "I think she worries," she replied, still with 
 Blight apprehension, "because she has made Cap- 
 tain Newngham unhappy." 
 
 "Men get over these things, my dear." Then 
 seeing a startled expression in the other's eyes, he 
 hastened to add : "Captain Newngham is a boy. 
 At his age tender passions are not very danger- 
 ous. It is later on that a man gets hard hit.
 
 126 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 He has not the same vitality to recover. But 
 about Miss Bastien why don't you ask her to 
 come and stay here for a little? You are both 
 so devoted, it would probably cheer her up to 
 be with you." 
 
 Gillette looked at him gratefully, feeling he had 
 intended in pure kindness to propose a plan con- 
 genial to her. For himself, she remembered him 
 more than once to have said that he detested 
 visitors. 
 
 She did, indeed, much desire to see Ellice. Yet 
 it was very sweet still, though each day it grew 
 less so, to be alone with the man she loved. Liv- 
 ing si deux there existed a dependence upon each 
 other for society, talk, everything impossible 
 with a third person in the house. Gillette thrust 
 the notion aside, ashamed of its selfishness. 
 
 "I will write and ask her to-morrow. It is 
 good of you to have thought of it," she said 
 simply. 
 
 Spenser noticed the absence of excessive delight 
 in her voice, but did not stop to puzzle out the 
 reason for it. The thing was done : Ellice would 
 come to him. The infant conscience he had more 
 than once seen in her would be snared facilely. 
 If a moment's hesitation came to her as to this 
 rapid visit, an irrefutable argument was at hand. 
 She did not come to see him at all, but Gillette, 
 the friend and comforter of many years. 
 
 The question once settled, he breathed with the 
 sense of a wearing uncertainty pacified. His tem- 
 per ameliorated, and he felt brusquely a desire to 
 be nice to Gillette, to send her to bed happy.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 127 
 
 Only, first of all the date of Ellice's visit must 
 be fixed. To wait long would entail a return of 
 the exhausting unrest of the last few days. He 
 was not well enough to bear it. 
 
 "Tell her to come at once, while the weather 
 is fine. I have to go to town on Monday. I 
 could bring her back if you liked." 
 
 Then he told Gillette to stop working, and to 
 talk to him instead. At the end of an hour he 
 had the satisfaction of feeling instinctively how 
 this unexpected display of affection coursed like 
 the glow of wine through the entire frame of the 
 poor woman opposite to him. In the end she 
 slipped from her chair on to the hearth-rug at 
 his feet, letting one hand steal timidly over his 
 knee. For a time he left it there in solitude; 
 then, deciding while he was about it to make 
 the moment as rich for her as he could, he laid 
 his own upon the waiting fingers. Gillette drew 
 a sigh of content, and once more the pathos of 
 her situation stirred him faintly. She had her 
 face turned away from him, and her hair was 
 soft and abundant. He stroked it caressingly, 
 aware that the action quickened her heart-beats. 
 And the evening, terminated in this fashion, did, 
 as he supposed, more than atone to the humble 
 affection of Gillette for all his discourtesies during 
 the past three days since their arrival. 
 
 For fear of showing any excessive interest, 
 he avoided asking next morning whether the 
 letter was written. But he watched Gillette's 
 occupations instead, scarcely leaving her side 
 until he saw her go to the writing-table in her
 
 128 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 boudoir. Still too unwell to go out, he asked 
 permission to read by her fire while she wrote. 
 She seemed to him an interminable time at the 
 occupation, but when she got up she held three 
 envelopes in her hand. Spenser put out an arm 
 to draw her toward him. He had need to be 
 assured that one of these letters was to Ellice. 
 After ah 1 , she had shown no great enthusiasm 
 the evening before, and at breakfast she had re- 
 galed him solely with the story of some nursery 
 governess proved to have stolen five pounds from 
 a friend of her mother's, and just given into cus- 
 tody. The circumstance, moreover, had undoubt- 
 edly upset her. She had gone about wearing a 
 troubled look ever since. Twice she had remarked, 
 though more to herself than him, "I must do 
 something, poor girl, poor girl!" 
 
 In this tempestuous sympathy for a worthless 
 criminal Ellice would easily be forgotten. These 
 good 'women adored the scum of the earth al- 
 ways. But the envelope uppermost in her hand 
 was addressed to Miss Bastien. Spenser felt phys- 
 ical restoration commence in him at the sight; 
 now he had only to be patient. 
 
 The answer came on the following Saturday. 
 He saw it lying by Gillette's plate on the break- 
 fast-table as he fetched a cup of coffee. She broke 
 open the envelope as he returned to his seat. 
 
 "Oh!" she said, half under her breath, while 
 reading. 
 
 Spenser looked up instantly, riveted by premo- 
 nition of disaster. There was disappointment 
 written upon Gillette's face. He felt no necessity
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 129 
 
 to ask : she had refused. It seemed for a moment 
 the impossible; a catastrophe so horrible must 
 be outside human limits. Anger and pain choked 
 him. 
 
 "Oh, George, Ellice cannot come! She seems 
 unwell, and she is going to make her aunt take 
 her to Nervi for the winter. You know Mrs. Arch- 
 bold hah wanted to go last year, only Ellice 
 seemed so reluctant. Ellice says she will come 
 in the spring. They do not leave immediately, 
 but she appears to have much to see and do. 
 She saw mother yesterday, who told her she had 
 done with men; they were too fatiguing after a 
 certain age." 
 
 Spenser made no reply. As a matter of fact, he 
 had not heard the last two sentences. Ellice re- 
 fused to see him. With an inaudible mutter he 
 left the room. He had got somehow to get ac- 
 customed to this unexpected check; he had also 
 to understand it. At fleeting intervals it excited 
 him, as if mingled obscurely in its disastrousness 
 lay a slender thread of good. The latter remained 
 inchoate, erratic, but touched him every now 
 and then with an uncertain sense of alleviation. 
 
 He -walked aimlessly about the library, and 
 from there into the music-room opening out of 
 it. Never had Gillette been more obnoxious to 
 him, or, rather, less Gillette than the necessary 
 conditions of married life, the omnivorousness of 
 its claims and encroachments. Through it one 
 could not even deal with a grief unhampered, 
 could not leave a room at will without explana- 
 tions offered to another person. In a moment, 
 9
 
 130 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 for instance, Gillette would lumber out of the 
 dining-room in search of him, brimming over 
 with detestable anxieties. To avoid comment, 
 he must go back and make a show of eating a 
 meal, every mouthful of which would stick in 
 his throat, and in all probability choke him. He 
 smiled with a sneer at himself. Through this 
 woman, whom he could have married for three 
 years and would not, he seemed likely to end his 
 days a prey to helpless melancholia. 
 
 Gillette greeted his return to the dining-room 
 with an exclamation of content; she had been 
 about to come and see if he were ill. Spenser 
 grunted a comment on her childishness, consider- 
 ing that he had enjoyed excellent health three 
 minutes previously. He then flung his cold coffee 
 into the slop-basin in order to have some fresh. 
 As he did so, without a deliberate thought upon 
 the matter, he realized suddenly what in EUice's 
 refusal had, in spite of the indescribable bitterness 
 of it, yet held a queer substratum of savor. 
 
 Vivid and undeniable, certain facts rose abruptly 
 in his brain. He took his refilled cup of coffee 
 from Gillette mechanically. Ellice loved him. She 
 had broken off her marriage because she loved 
 him; she would not come to them because she 
 loved him, and because she was afraid. This 
 had been the clause that she was afraid which 
 had kindled the peculiar agitation interpenetrat- 
 ing his horrible misery. So she was afraid. He 
 drank his coffee, repeating the phrase incessantly, 
 as if it lulled him, lulled the sense of frustration 
 and emptiness his wife's letter had incited, lulled
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 131 
 
 everything but a vague renewal of potentialities. 
 In the spring she would have to come. Like 
 himself, she would remember that Gillette must 
 suspect nothing. And since, like himself, she had 
 not undergone a change of feeling since she, El- 
 lice, the serene, light-hearted Ellice, was afraid 
 when she came, how easy the rest! 
 
 He saw her in imagination avoiding for a day 
 or two any possibility of being left alone with 
 him, and his own primary failure, probably, to 
 achieve a private interview. But it must take 
 place, would take place without effort when re- 
 sistance had been weakened hour after hour by 
 his voice, his presence. The inevitable future 
 warmed him like a draught of wine. Once more 
 he abandoned himself to plans and projects, im- 
 mersed himself in making sweet and elaborate 
 arrangements for her arrival. The months dwin- 
 dled in his imagination, and he felt her visit 
 hardly retarded, in the multitudinous things to 
 be done, in the house and out, as a preparation 
 for her coming. Suddenly Gillette's voice behind 
 the array of silver that hedged her like a garden- 
 wall cut sharply into his silence. 
 
 "Ah, well," she said, speaking half musingly, 
 "out there in the Riviera she will meet so many 
 men ; perhaps she may grow to care for some one 
 else. I think she is in the mood to love if she 
 could. She is sad and lonely, and writes that 
 she feels the age of love slipping from her. Men 
 mostly love Ellice. Soon she may gain happi- 
 ness again." 
 
 With a supreme effort Spenser checked himself
 
 132 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 from getting up and striking her. Every -word 
 burnt him like a scald. For the second time he 
 rose from table. On this occasion he went 
 straight to the inner hall for his coat and stick. 
 Ill or not, he had a need of air, solitude, and 
 space, absolutely imperative.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 The winter that followed was not easj for 
 either. Day by day Spenser's impatience for El- 
 lice's return increased, and week by week his dis- 
 taste to Gillette intensified, until at last to see her 
 in his house filled him with a desire to take 
 her by the shoulders and fling her out of it, and 
 her money after it. 
 
 For the first half of the winter he tried to keep 
 impatience under by having the place constantly 
 packed with visitors. Every spare bedroom in 
 the house was occupied, and all day long rose 
 the noise of voices, of the piano, of meals being 
 laid or cleared away. Frequently Spenser himself 
 saw nothing of his visitors until late in the after- 
 noon. It was Gillette Gillette, who hated much 
 company, and could not conquer her inherent 
 timidity who endured them about her from 
 breakfast until bedtime. Trivial flirtations per- 
 meated the building, and the rustling of women's 
 skirts and the hard sound of billiard-balls knock- 
 ing against each other. 
 
 Gillette suffered acutely, but at the same time 
 showed no outward signs of dislike to these fort- 
 nightly invasions. Since he desired them, she 
 could at least enjoy the pleasure of obeying pleas- 
 antly. Nevertheless, it was a difficult period. In 
 the conversations which took place before her
 
 134 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 she could rarely join easily. The people, plays, 
 and entertainments discussed she had no cogni- 
 zance of, and the atmosphere of mind breathed 
 out into the talk affected her sensitiveness like 
 a bad odor. 
 
 All the work she loved had to be laid aside for 
 her onerous duties as hostess. Only during the 
 night did she even find time for the voluminous 
 correspondence her many acts of charity involved. 
 For Gillette had a number of friends among the 
 suffering and outcast to whom her tireless sym- 
 pathy was like honey in the throat. And always 
 more unfettered when -writing than when speak- 
 ing, in her letters she gave the beauty of her 
 soul to them unconsciously. 
 
 Yet her smile at this period remained calm and 
 ready. None suspected the pain she endured 
 while day by day, like little drops of poison in 
 the system, she received more light on the real 
 condition of affairs between her husband and 
 herself. Gillette's intuitions were anything but 
 dull. It took far less than Spenser credited to 
 make her realize irretrievably that he did not 
 love her. Instinct apprehended it in a month; 
 for one or two more she struggled against her 
 own conviction; then in silence, feeling emptied 
 thereby of bodily substance, she accepted the fact 
 that this earthly love she had thought hers had 
 not existed as she believed. 
 
 That Spenser was totally without affection, it 
 is true, her mind refused to credit. The fact ex- 
 posed him in too pitiable a light. She believed 
 him originally to have been under the impression
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 135 
 
 that he loved her, deceived by the 'glamour of 
 her money. But she was an inadequate wife, and 
 chafed and disgusted him. The fears that had 
 lashed her at the beginning of their engagement 
 proved more than justified. With her inflexibility 
 of conscience, she stood incessantly in an attitude 
 of unwilling antagonism to him. And week by 
 week he drew more completely out of all tender 
 intercourse. In a month after their return to 
 Rook House she was already used to seeing him 
 only among their guests, or, if alone for a few 
 seconds, only in order to endure peevish and un- 
 justified complaints. 
 
 Gillette travelled far that autumn in the lacerat- 
 ing road of anguish. But she bore her disillusion 
 kneeling, with prayers that she might soon learn 
 to disregard her heart's relinquishment, the more 
 to immerse herself in the beauty of the Christ 
 ideal, and in ministrations of love to those need- 
 ing either help or comfort. And above the disin- 
 tegration of personal happiness her soul remained 
 fixed and still. Sorely tried, it issued from the 
 ordeal pure and clear as running water. At the 
 end of her martyrdom Gillette had not let drop 
 one fragment of belief in the ultimate triumph 
 of good, or of gratitude for what was beautiful 
 on the earth and in human conduct. Into her 
 grief not a grain of bitterness had fallen. It had 
 but deepened her grasp of what pain signified, 
 and sharpened her conviction that the joy of life 
 lies only in its opportunity of use to others. 
 
 Suddenly, shortly before Christmas, Spenser 
 wearied of the constant presence of people in his
 
 136 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 house, and quite abruptly they fell back upon a 
 tete-a-tete existence. Mr. Crawford, their neigh- 
 bor, was almost the only person for the rest of 
 the winter who came into the place. Him, how- 
 ever, Spenser asked so continually that not a day 
 passed, it seemed to Gillette, without his arrival 
 at some period. He became a factor of their 
 daily life at last. She even once or twice forgot 
 to greet him with the customary formula, so 
 much did he seem a resident member of the house- 
 hold. 
 
 For a day or two after Spenser's hasty decision 
 to have no more house-parties, there had flickered 
 in her eager anticipation of a return to better 
 days. But he avoided her presence as carefully 
 as ever, while his insistent invitations to Craw- 
 ford she could not but suspect, in the end, given 
 partly to escape from being alone with her. 
 Henceforward, therefore, with an instinctive deli- 
 cacy of pride, she herself contrived to keep her 
 presence as little intrusive as possible. 
 
 To Sidney Crawford at this period the state of 
 affairs was much what he had anticipated, only, 
 if possible, more patent and unmistakable. For 
 no reason that he knew of, he had a certain lik- 
 ing for Spenser, and his first condition of mind 
 was sympathy for the unfortunate husband. 
 From the beginning he had longed to tell him 
 that en? could buy certain advantages at too 
 appalling a cost. For no man knew better than 
 he how adhesive a woman bound to one by any 
 tie could become to one's daily life. 
 
 Gillette, during the first few weeks of their re-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 137 
 
 newed acquaintance, he almost disliked. It was 
 such a bore to have to reckon always with a 
 woman one did not know what to say to. Her 
 appearance, certainly, he considered much im- 
 proved under Spenser's tuition, and, though her 
 figure still inclined to the form of a tub, the ex- 
 pression of radiant kindness in the face gave her 
 to him something very near to beauty. The 
 strain she was passing through cooled the color 
 of her complexion, and the eyes seemed illumined 
 as well as darkened. But in the initial conversa- 
 tions they held together her total absence of small- 
 talk paralyzed the man who was accustomed to 
 very little else. He did not feel equal to launch- 
 ing upon another religious cross-examination; 
 interest in her was too completely non-existent. 
 
 Nevertheless, by the spring Gillette had left a 
 sensible mark upon the minds of both men. 
 Slowly, with astonishment, and almost with re- 
 luctance, they grew to recognize that a fine per- 
 sonality dwelt in the midst of them. It did not 
 in Spenser increase good-humor. The fact accen- 
 tuated his own brutality, and by so doing in- 
 flamed his bitterness. But now and then, half 
 grudgingly, he did at least yield her a passing 
 admiration. Crawford, however, in whom she 
 thwarted nothing, after a while frankly admitted 
 an ennobling influence. To Spenser himself he 
 confessed one evening after dinner that Mrs. Spen- 
 ser's beauty of character was a revelation. 
 
 For Gillette spent her days in an unselfish ac- 
 tivity that could not always conceal itself from 
 a visitor as intimate as Crawford. She had
 
 138 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 bought two cottages in the village, furnished 
 them, and kept them always filled by three or 
 four sick or suffering. When the governess, whose 
 conviction for theft she had followed so closely, 
 came out of prison, Gillette was outside the 
 prison doors to meet her. Extenuating circum- 
 stances (the dangerous illness of her illegitimate 
 child) had been brought forward, and two days 
 after the release Gillette had both her and the 
 child in the cottage for the winter. Spenser di- 
 vulged this incident to Crawford as an instance 
 of the sickly sentimentality of religious women 
 and the degenerating quality of their ideas. The 
 Irishman, however, easily roused to enthusiasm, 
 declared the affair profoundly beautiful. It was 
 one of rare charitable deeds that entail personal 
 labor, immense accuracy of intuition, a thousand 
 delicate qualities that would prohibit it from 
 most well-meaning philanthropists, and his pri- 
 mary indifference to Gillette died then and there. 
 In its place grew slowly an attentive eagerness 
 to perceive spiritual charm, which ended by em- 
 bedding in his disposition an uncomprehending 
 admiration. He found her presence then eloquent 
 instead of her lips. She breathed out goodness, 
 peace, intelligence, instead of speaking of them. 
 And truly she had thought for every one. Even 
 the little trivial likes and dislikes of those she 
 associated with seemed rapidly to become fixed 
 in her mind. There was nothing too small or 
 too great, apparently, for this woman to render 
 as service to others; and so overflowing is the 
 happiness inseparable from noble conduct, that
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 139 
 
 her face, for all the private pain-marking shadows 
 round the eyes, was often like a vessel full to the 
 brim in its gentle radiance. On these occasions 
 Crawford, speculating curiously what fruitful ac- 
 tion she had just been about, felt also as if blessed 
 himself by the rays emitted. Holiness hung about 
 him, and he shook off her influence occasionally 
 with something akin to effort. 
 
 He regarded her as a saint long before he ac- 
 quired facility in talking to her ; that he did only 
 when Gillette had discerned the warm sympathies 
 dormant under his superficial selfishness. By 
 Christmas each was aware that the other ex- 
 perienced a genuine, if secret, liking, but even 
 then it was long before ease and familiarity rose 
 between them. Crawford for a considerable time 
 before then had considered the other as the one 
 elevating factor in his existence, finding his gen- 
 eral lightness of behavior already tempered by 
 the depth of character possessed by his neighbor's 
 wife. For that Spenser made her secretly un- 
 happy was obvious. If he could wound her, he 
 did, while his avoidance of her society became 
 doubly insulting through its frankness. 
 
 Not that Spenser, however, did not make occa- 
 sional efforts to remedy his behavior. During the 
 intermittent periods, when the "Ellice craze," as 
 he himself designated his infatuation, sank soothed 
 from sheer exhaustion, then his antipathy to Gil- 
 lette dwindled also, and a passing compunction 
 seized him. He experienced at such times a deep 
 gratitude to her for her wonderful acceptance 
 of a dire situation, and, marvelling at the strength
 
 140 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 behind the simple exterior, would come unexpect- 
 edly to her room and talk for an hour or so. 
 Sometimes even, knowing how it appealed to her 
 strong protective instincts, he would avow himself 
 weary of everything, and only desirous of lying 
 like a child against her breast. He would feel 
 then, as she drew his head against her shoulder, 
 how the hands trembled with the tenderness 
 called up in her. They would sit in this fashion 
 without speaking, Gillette's heart beating tumul- 
 tuously against his body, and the man dreaming 
 of Ellice. He had but to sit in the gloom against 
 the soft figure of Gillette, and Ellice insinuated 
 herself into his imagination. He closed his eyes, 
 and she rose before him. In fact, never did she 
 keep him closer company than upon these occa- 
 sions. 
 
 Unfortunately, the slightest incident sufficed to 
 re-establish callousness. And only once, perhaps, 
 did Gillette's moral peculiarity profoundly move 
 him. A woman had murdered the child of another 
 woman, of whom she was jealous. The trial 
 took place shortly before Christmas, and one 
 evening at dinner Crawford chanced to speak of 
 the condemnation. A petition for reprieve had 
 been refused, and she was to be hung on the Mon- 
 day after New Year's Day. Gillette, at the foot 
 of the table, listened with visible distress, and, 
 upon Spenser's half-contemptuous assertion that 
 she condoned brutality, admitted that she felt 
 extreme pity for the murderess. 
 
 "Think what she must have gone through to 
 grow so cruel," she stammered, almost under her
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 141 
 
 breath. "And it is a punishment so ghastly. 
 Oh, pray God she is at least not imaginative 
 not too afraid." 
 
 She g )t up abruptly, and, with a sudden state- 
 ment as to feeling overheated and faint, left the 
 room. 
 
 "My better half seems a little hysterical," re- 
 marked Spenser indifferently. 
 
 Crawford suggested that a servant should be 
 sent to see if Mrs. Spenser -were really unwell. 
 An answer came back that Mrs. Spenser felt 
 merely a little upset by the heat of the immense 
 fire, but begged to be excused for that evening. 
 
 The incident passed immediately out of Spenser's 
 mind. 
 
 One evening, however, a few weeks later, he was 
 seized at about eleven o'clock at night with an 
 unprecedented desire to talk to somebody. Craw- 
 ford was in town ; Gillette had retired to her room 
 before ten o'clock. It was extremely unusual for 
 him to feel a need of human intercourse, but now 
 and again lately the unrest of his floating antici- 
 pations drove him into preferring anything to sol- 
 itude. The feeling was strong upon him this even- 
 ing, but, concluding that Gillette would be asleep, 
 he finally retired to his own room with a volume 
 of R. L. Stevenson. Obnoxious, persistent dis- 
 couragement preoccupied him. He could neither 
 sleep nor read. At last he gave up trying to do 
 either, and decided to go to Gillette and babble 
 to her of subjects not really in his mind, but 
 which would help to take it off depressing prog- 
 nostications.
 
 142 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 He entered her room without knocking, assured 
 of finding a tranquil slumber. By \vay of com. 
 pensating for interrupted rest, he proposed to 
 wake the girl with a kiss. He had not stopped 
 to put on slippers, and his feet on the thick pile 
 of the red carpet did not make a sound. But 
 the bed was empty, the coverings still turned 
 down cornerwise one side, as left by the maid 
 in her evening's preparations. It must be twelve 
 or past, and Gillette had not gone to bed. For 
 no ascertainable reason Spenser felt annoyed. 
 The idiot was doubtless praying in the room be- 
 yond. Really, she must be going mad to carry 
 her religious exercises to the excess she did. Then 
 he saw the door of the powder-room to be open. 
 He went across, prepared rudely to check her 
 spiritual output. Curiosity stopped him on the 
 threshold. She was praying out loud, though 
 little above a whisper. Spenser stood near enough 
 to see part of her figure. She had her back turned 
 to him, but in all her attitude was an appear- 
 ance of tension, as if the ardor of her mind sent 
 a current of emotion throughout her body. Spen- 
 ser stopped short, and, idly curious, kept even his 
 breath in semi-check. 
 
 "O Christ," petitioned the low voice of Gillette, 
 "I beseech Thee be with this poor sinner to-night. 
 O Christ, grant that her soul may live again in 
 her, that she may see, and feel, and grow re- 
 pentant. I beseech Thee, I beseech Thee, com. 
 fort her, renew her spiritual insight. And, O 
 God, be merciful to her. Spare her intolerable 
 fear and pain. Dear Lord, be gentle to this sin-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 143 
 
 ner, whose soul lay dead, who could not under- 
 stand what she did, what agony the little one 
 suffered." (He could hear the tears throbbing in 
 her voice.) "Be merciful, for terror of physical 
 agony is horrible, too, O God. It freezes the 
 blood it is awful! Dear Saviour, forgive her, 
 and make her washed and purified from sin. 
 Spare her, too, in this heavy human punishment 
 the fear that maddens, the horror that makes 
 the throat dust." 
 
 Spenser found himself touched, in disregard of 
 his will, and at first puzzled. Then he remem- 
 bered the woman who had not been reprieved, 
 and whose execution evidently would take place 
 to-morrow. 
 
 "Gillette, stop this, and come to bed. What 
 the devil are you trying to catch your death of 
 cold at this time of night for?" His manner was 
 rough, but even the other could feel a certain 
 kindly mood underlying it. Gillette sprang to 
 her feet, startled and shamefaced. "Come to bed at 
 once," went on Spenser angrily; and she obeyed, 
 though she still caught her breath with quick, 
 strangled sobs. Spenser saw her face was pale 
 and drawn-looking. 
 
 For himself, the incident seemed to have exor- 
 cised his surplus depression. His mind felt disen- 
 cumbered already of the nervous excitement of 
 the evening. In an hour he fell asleep. When he 
 woke in the morning, Gillette lay no longer in 
 bed. Almost immediately he guessed what she 
 was doing. She would be found upon her knees, 
 keeping piteous intercession during the last grim
 
 144 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 hours of this human tragedy. She was living 
 with the victim the supreme agony of the death 
 preparations; she was importuning Heaven that 
 a little mercy might mitigate them, and a great 
 stream of spiritual love follow the sharp, brief 
 torture of death. 
 
 He got up as noiselessly as he could. It was 
 five minutes to eight by Gillette's gilt travelling- 
 clock on the mantelpiece a clock flanked, to Spen- 
 ser's unceasing annoyance, by a row of female 
 portraits, small and large, with inscriptions un- 
 derneath photographs, he presumed, of Gillette's 
 succored riff-raff. 
 
 The door of the little adjoining room was al- 
 most closed. She had probably not dared quite 
 to close it, for fear of rousing him. He heard no 
 audible intercession this time, but felt certain of 
 her kneeling presence. Acting upon a sudden 
 kindly impulse, Spenser did not again interfere. 
 With Gillette's deep faith in the efficacy of prayer, 
 to be stopped from keeping this bitter, earnest 
 vigil would be to feel distress for many days. 
 Moreover, its termination could not but be close 
 at hand. Gillette knew the hour of execution, 
 and was not likely, he hazarded, to continue end- 
 lessly petitioning for the dead. That, happily, 
 did not form part of the Protestant creed. 
 
 He retired to his room, and at breakfast Gil- 
 lette appeared much as usual grave, but atten- 
 tive to his wants, and wearing her usual gentle 
 expression. 
 
 Next morning, as the paper was brought in, 
 however, he saw her closed lips twitch slightly.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 145 
 
 Motived by a rare but genuine kindness, Spenser, 
 instead of reading where he was, rose, and took 
 the paper into the library. Having read it, more- 
 over, he proceeded to burn the part giving a de- 
 scription of the woman's butchery, and, that she 
 migh suspect nothing, stuffed the rest of the paper 
 into the coal-box. Later on in the day, when 
 Gillette asked to see the paper, he professed to 
 have mislaid it. 
 
 After dinner that evening he told the story to 
 Crawford. Frankly he admitted that an imper- 
 sonal emotion so intense eluded him. Crawford 
 listened in silence. 
 
 "Good Lord, man!" he remarked at the end, 
 his soft voice not entirely free from the Southern 
 intonation, "your wife is enough to make one 
 believe in religion! And certainly she's made a 
 fool of me. The tears in a second will course 
 down me cheeks. Well, well, there's more in this 
 
 d world than I expected. What stumps me, 
 
 is keeping up the sympathy all this time. I can 
 weep with the best of you look at me sweet 
 blue eyes, now, all blurred with honest tears! 
 But after three weeks, that's what beats me! 
 Upon my word, it's just the prettiest story I 
 ever heard! Spenser, I want to cry. Me wick- 
 edness, me cold and hardened heart, lies so heavy 
 in me breast." 
 
 "Don't be a fool!" muttered Spenser bluntly, 
 used to the other's outbursts. He had already 
 more than once told Crawford himself that he 
 did not believe he possessed a single emotion in 
 his body; the moment he received one he flung 
 10
 
 146 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 it all out of him in a torrential burst of confi- 
 dence. Crawford on these occasions smiled 
 blandly, and admitted that he had objections to 
 retaining an excess of feeling. Ten minutes of ex- 
 travagant expression, and physically he became 
 disloaded, lightened, calmed. 
 
 "Once more me and me fat is left to a -wedded 
 peace," he explained genially. Like a good mam- 
 fat men, he frequently spoke of himself as if he 
 had been an overgrown infant. 
 
 After Spenser's story they went for once into 
 the drawing-room before going to play billiards. 
 Gillette sat on the sofa near the fire when they 
 came in, and for once had no occupation. Usu- 
 ally since her marriage she dressed in black, but 
 she wore this evening an out-of-date-looking fawn 
 tea-gown, in which she appeared enormous. 
 Crawford, advancing to pay homage, felt that 
 a douche of cold water had been poured upon 
 his enthusiasm. In the last half-hour he had 
 permitted imagination several acrobatic feats, 
 and the kind of woman he half expected to see 
 was Gillette extenuated, etherealized, almost re- 
 duced to a mere fillette again. In the face of the 
 reality he sank back into the immense chair op- 
 posite with an inarticulate sound of disappoint- 
 ment. 
 
 "Awfully bad for the emotions an ugly 
 woman!" he said silently. Truly the Almighty 
 had made a grave mistake for once. Here was 
 every equipment for a savior of souls. The 
 amount of fish hauled in to the Paradisaical net 
 would have been prodigious, satiating, glutton-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 147 
 
 izing, even, but for one paramount essential omit- 
 ted. The appearance of the bait was not beguil- 
 ing to the nibbling fish, and for this small error 
 the Almighty would doubtless have to go with- 
 out what would otherwise indubitably have been 
 a whacking dish of souls. It was a great, an in- 
 contestable pity.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Two or three days after this incident, by the 
 second post there came a letter from Ellice. Spen- 
 ser was alone in the dining-room when it arrived. 
 He had just returned from hunting, and was 
 waiting for a late lunch. He seldom followed to 
 the death, and that day, dead tired, had turned 
 back shortly after one o'clock. Taking the let- 
 ters from the tray, he saw Ellice' s handwriting 
 in a second. Its appeal was immediate and irre- 
 sistible ; for a second the temptation to read and 
 then burn the letter flickered within him. She 
 had not written, to his knowledge, since Christ- 
 mas Day. This -was probably to announce her 
 return, and merely to know the date of that 
 would be to experience a foretaste of reality. 
 
 He went immediately in search of Gillette. Her 
 maid informed him that she was out; had left 
 directly after her lunch, at one o'clock. That up- 
 set him. Heaven only knew when she would be 
 back. Once down in the village or at her cot- 
 tages, nothing but the dinner-hour could insure 
 her return. 
 
 He stood in front of the boudoir fire, where 
 her absence had been ascertained by him. As in 
 her bedroom, a promiscuous quantity of photo- 
 graphs filled the mantel-shelf. A fair number of 
 them looked like the portraits of servant-girls.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 149 
 
 In the midst was a cabinet of Ellice ; he had never 
 noticed it previously, hidden as it was by the 
 row in front. That a photograph of Ellice stood 
 upon the inlaid writing-bureau he knew he pos- 
 sessed a replica of that himself; and the discov- 
 ery that the thing had been also given to others 
 caused his fingers to itch every time he came near 
 to it. 
 
 This other, however, was a new discovery. He 
 took it carefully from off the mantelpiece, dis- 
 turbed instantly at the sight. For it was Ellice 
 very young, scarcely seventeen in a white 
 gown of tulle, probably the gown of her first 
 ball. The arms slim, a little too thin, were folded 
 in front of her. The neck was bare and round 
 and young. Her face, a little upturned evidently 
 carrying it so had always been a trick of hers 
 had the fresh, ignorant look of all immature crea- 
 tures. Innocence and gayety were its only expres- 
 sions; at least, no, eagerness also for the still 
 hidden things hung about the wide-open eyes, 
 the curved, smiling lips. Her hair had been tied 
 with a bow at the nape of the neck, and the ex- 
 ceeding youth of the whole figure strained Spen- 
 ser's heart-strings. 
 
 His fingers commenced cautiously to move the 
 clasps at the back. The theft could never be 
 brought home to him. Probably Gillette had 
 forgotten the photograph's existence behind the 
 thrilling array of her saved souls. He had pushed 
 aside the brass clips, when he heard a footstep 
 along the passage. In an instant he replaced the 
 frame in its place. Gillette entered the room as
 
 150 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 he withdrew his hand. She breathed a little 
 heavily, and had on a clumsy-looking sealskin 
 cape, that covered her almost to the knees. 
 
 On seeing her husband unexpectedly, she seemed 
 startled, and stood for a minute resting against 
 the settee, as if taken with an attack of palpita- 
 tion. 
 
 "You here?" she remarked, with a quiet sur- 
 prise. "Is there anything you want, dear?" 
 
 She was unfastening her cloak, and her move- 
 ments had the inability of extreme weariness. 
 Spenser suspected what he designated usually as 
 "an orgie" in sympathy during her outing. Her 
 voice, moreover, annoyed him, an unconscious re- 
 proach seeming to him concealed in the surprise 
 of it. He restrained his irritability, however. 
 Without amiability he could scarcely have a rea- 
 son for remaining during the perusal of her let- 
 ters, and for casually learning their contents. 
 
 "I wanted my wife. As a matter of fact, dear, 
 I came in tired and missed you. Let's have early 
 tea up here. Where have you been? Oh, I forgot ! 
 here are two letters for you." 
 
 "From mother and Ellice," said Gillette, sitting 
 down on the settee, and resting her head against 
 the back of the seat. "Yes, dear, let us have tea 
 up here; and will you ring and tell them? I am 
 so very tired." 
 
 "What on earth have you been doing to wear 
 yourself out like this?" answered Spenser, a slight 
 snappishness permeating his voice unawares. 
 "And why on earth don't you read your letters?" 
 he added, as he turned back and saw her still
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 151 
 
 sitting with her eyes closed. "My dear girl, do 
 you feel ill?" 
 
 Her face looked quite pinched, and he had never 
 seen her with so little color. Had she caught an 
 infectious disease from one of her cottagers, and 
 was she sickening for some long illness? 
 
 Gillette took up her letters listlessly, and broke 
 open Ellice's. 
 
 "I am not very well," she said as she did so, 
 and it struck him that there was something pe- 
 culiar in her voice. 
 
 As she read he watched her face from his posi- 
 tion in front of the fireplace. Its expression re- 
 mained unaltered. He started coughing, and, to 
 his annoyance, she stopped reading to look up 
 at him anxiously. 
 
 "Now, child, don't, for goodness' sake, begin 
 to worry about me. Go on with your letters. 
 I have a cold, but I shall not die of it." 
 
 He felt beside himself at her idiotic and unneces- 
 sary delays. It seemed to him, indeed, as if he 
 passed the greater part of his life now, with a 
 brain on fire, waiting for this woman to read a 
 letter. 
 
 The door opened, and the footman appeared 
 in answer to the bell. 
 
 "Bring up tea and some sandwiches. I shall 
 not require lunch, after all," he ordered curtly, 
 again furious with Gillette. 
 
 Her interest in her epistle was so slight she 
 actually paused once more to look up while he 
 addressed the servant. Moreover, when at last 
 she had finished its perusal, she laid it down with-
 
 152 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 out a word upon the settee, and commenced her 
 mother's. 
 
 Spenser waited, staring from where he stood 
 out of the window. It had been a dull, clouded 
 morning; now it had commenced to rain. Mrs. 
 Sinclair's communication to her daughter ap- 
 peared interminable. Spenser finally walked 
 across to the window, and gazed out at the 
 green of the wet grass, hemmed in by the naked 
 branches of the elms. 
 
 He turned round again at last, at the end of 
 endurance. A plain question could do no harm j 
 and Gillette appeared too lackadaisical to open 
 her mouth. Just then she said: 
 
 "Ellice is not coming back until April. I am 
 so disappointed. I had so hoped to have her 
 here soon." 
 
 Spenser sat down on the nearest chair, the one 
 in front of the closed bureau by the window. 
 For a moment Ellice herself became loathsome 
 to him. He longed to revile her, to inundate 
 her person in vile phrases, in lying accusations. 
 Oppression lay like a volume of heavy matter 
 on his chest. He gave her up: she was a silly 
 little fool. There were other women as dis- 
 tracting and as superficial. 
 
 The footman brought in the tea-tray. Spenser 
 watched him with a growing sense of self-pity. 
 How he suffered, unknown to everybody! After 
 all, he had never loved but one woman ; it seemed 
 hard, therefore, that, asking so little, he should 
 attain nothing. Mentally, he traced his own per- 
 sistent ill-luck from the time of his birth until
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 153 
 
 the present moment. He did not actually feel 
 sick, but his chest was contracted and his throat 
 parched. 
 
 "Tea is ready, dear. Won't you come over here? 
 You look so dejected sitting there. George, are 
 you sure that your cold is not serious, that your 
 lung is not troubling you?" 
 
 "My dear girl, I have just told you there is 
 nothing the matter with me." 
 
 He came, however, and sat in a chintz-covered 
 chair by the fire. Since he had heard the news, 
 it tired him to walk across the room. His chief 
 inclination was to sit on doing nothing and hear- 
 ing nothing, until a kind of stupor settled upon 
 hie brain. Renewed antipathy to Gillette was 
 rising through the blow just dealt to him. He 
 hoped, for her own sake, that she might perceive 
 he was not inclined for conversation. 
 
 "George," she said, however, the moment he 
 came up for his cup, and she moved the china 
 senselessly about the tray, "mother wants to 
 come down and stay here. May I have her?" 
 
 She spoke diffidently, like a child asking a favor. 
 Gillette knew his innate antagonism to her 
 mother. 
 
 "No, you may not. I am not in the mood to 
 put up with your mother, and that's flat. I have 
 about as much as I can do with now. She can 
 not came down here for the present." 
 
 He felt better the moment the outburst had left 
 his chest. The mere violence of his delivery eased 
 the bitterness accumulating since his recent dis- 
 appointment. And, in truth, to have that vul-
 
 154 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 gar, chattering, noisy woman in his house until 
 he felt better would kill him. Silence followed 
 his statement. He looked up, and saw Gillette 
 staring at him with a look of absolute horror, 
 Twice she tried to speak and could not. Then 
 she rose from her seat. She appeared dazed at 
 the violence of his manner, and Spenser felt as 
 if her face grew haggard as he watched. 
 
 "George." 
 
 His name passed her lips as if pumped from 
 the depths of her being. She appeared unable to 
 say more. 
 
 "My dear Gillette, don't be theatrical. Your 
 mother is a very good soul, but she is not con- 
 genial to me, and I do not choose to have her 
 at the moment. Tell her I am not well, and pre- 
 fer my wife's society unadulterated." 
 
 "Tell me what why did you marry me, 
 George?" 
 
 For the first time, as she spoke, he saw her 
 face destitute of benevolence. She also, for once, 
 had been racked into an uncontrollable exclama- 
 tion. Her voice passed slowly into the sombre 
 room, like a heavy substance. 
 
 Spenser could not endure scenes, even with El- 
 lice. From Gillette they were intolerable. All 
 the cruelty of his nature was uppermost at the 
 moment. Ellice's letter dislodged the very dregs 
 of his bitterness. 
 
 "What did I marry you for?" he answered, with 
 a sinister lightness. "For love, of course. A fact 
 so obvious should be beyond the region of ques- 
 tion."
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 155 
 
 "You married me only for my money. I am 
 hateful to you. Oh, God, help me!" 
 
 She seemed about to faint, but as she swayed 
 over the tea-tray, he caught her and pushed her 
 back on to the settee. Her hands were like ice. 
 He slapped them to restore circulation, half hop- 
 ing that he hurt her. She was only a second or 
 two, however, before she withdrew them and 
 opened her eyes. He then pushed the tea-table 
 to one side. Next time, he thought, she would 
 probably flop right on to it. 
 
 Gillette, meanwhile, sat with her hands clasped, 
 and at the sight he hazarded a flippant query 
 whether the prayer, obviously being uttered, was 
 for himself or her. As she did not speak, he went 
 and poked the fire, determined not to be the first 
 to continue an absurd discussion. At that she 
 made another attempt to get up. Spenser al- 
 most groaned, wondering why on earth women 
 always insist on standing to make a scene. 
 
 Gillette, however, after an effort to rise, sank 
 back again against the settee. Her attitude ex- 
 pressed immeasurable weariness: her arms hung 
 each side of her, and her hands lay feebly on the 
 seat. 
 
 "Forgive me," she said at last, "if I hurt you 
 by forcing a sincere attitude between us. I think 
 I was wrong." 
 
 For the life of him Spenser was unable to re- 
 ply. As usual, he considered her conduct ridicu- 
 lous, but at the same time no longer experienced 
 anger. She looked too crushed for it, poor 
 soul!
 
 156 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 "Oh, but the awfulness of it!" broke suddenly 
 in a whisper from the girl's dry lips. 
 
 Spenser noticed that they were slightly cracked, 
 and felt that if he were paid a thousand pounds 
 to do so he could not kiss her that afternoon. 
 
 "You do not understand," continued Gillette, 
 hah" inaudibly, pressing her two hands nervously 
 together, while her head slowly drooped forward. 
 "You dislike me and you must know lam " 
 
 She stopped, and in her painful silence implored 
 him to help her timidity. Spenser glanced sharply 
 at her. A thunderbolt fallen at his feet could not 
 have affected him more. It was impossible to 
 misunderstand the communication. 
 
 "Good God!" he said slowly; and neither of 
 them moved or spoke for several minutes. "How 
 long have you been like this?" 
 
 Gillette's head sank still lower. She did not 
 attempt to look at him. 
 
 "I think six months." 
 
 "Have you seen a doctor?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You had better have Dr. Priestley at once." 
 
 Once more they were silent. Like Spenser, the 
 woman seemed hypnotized by the situation. She 
 had felt ill for many days, and the shock of Spen- 
 ser's tacit confession that he had merely married 
 her for her money seemed to have set up physical 
 consequences. Her heart pained her as if it had 
 been torn sideways. She felt the nerves strained 
 to snapping-point ; and over all her body her 
 clothes seemed pressing extraordinarily, choking 
 her, and endangering the life she was to bring
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 157 
 
 forth. She yearned to tear them apart and 
 breathe freely. 
 
 Along with physical misery ran a thousand 
 mental ones. She believed herself to have failed, 
 not only in kindness and forbearance, but in her 
 call as a woman to be above all, and invariably, 
 a comforter, a gentle smoother of the rough edges 
 of life. Seldom, indeed, had she felt so forlorn, 
 so sunk in spiritual darkness, so hemmed in by 
 purely physical pains and earthly troubles. 
 
 Spenser, meanwhile, standing motionless with 
 his back to the fireplace, went through a wholly 
 opposite experience. This final catastrophe cleared 
 instead of stupefying his brain. His previous 
 torpor gave way to a brusque inflow of ideas 
 and sensations. Unadulterated disgust first at- 
 tacked him. Nothing could well be more repel- 
 lent to him than to have the ties of his mar- 
 riage strengthened, as it were, by fatherhood. 
 Every germinal hope for the future dispersed 
 under it. The desertion of a wife was bad 
 enough, but in the eyes of the world it would 
 be rendered immeasurably more heinous by en- 
 tailing also the desertion of a child, supposed 
 to have a supreme call upon him as responsible 
 for its existence. He recoiled then at the frank, 
 ness of his thoughts. Bah! he had no intention 
 of deserting Gillette. He had married with his 
 eyes open, and must abide by the consequences. 
 But immediately and instinctively his thoughts 
 turned back again to see how this new develop- 
 ment of affairs would affect Ellice. He measured 
 slowly first what measure of influence he could
 
 158 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 reckon himself to possess over her. Everything 
 in the future depended on that. The nerves of 
 his head throbbed with the pressure put upon 
 them by his mental investigation, and his brain 
 congested with the disordered mass of memories 
 fished up, one after another, from under recent 
 overlayings. 
 
 Finally he drew a sharp breath, and pulled his 
 body together. The room was dark ; therefore it 
 must be quite four o'clock. Well, to Ellice this 
 baby could not make much difference. For she 
 loved him ; of that fact he was now certain. There- 
 fore, inevitably, like himself, she must sooner or 
 later grow famished for a full abandonment to 
 the impulses of love. It was a nature all tender- 
 ness and little gracious weaknesses. Besides, the 
 immensity of his own desire gave him a sense 
 of being freshly irresistible. No woman could 
 stand against a force of feeling such as he would 
 immerse Ellice in, allied as it was with the pas- 
 sion, the cunning, the matured experience, of a 
 man past forty. After all, she remained even 
 now little more than a girl a little creature he 
 himself had moulded at the impressionable age 
 of her life. 
 
 He glanced at Gillette again. The cumbersome 
 appearance of her figure suddenly held his atten- 
 tion. He became fascinated by it. What a shape- 
 less lump she looked, sitting with her head down, 
 like a fat peasant beaten with fatigue. Then he 
 wondered with an abrupt sense of pity, if she 
 suffered. And she would get worse. The agony 
 inevitably in front of her brusquely preoccupied
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 159 
 
 him, and quite genuinely he felt disgusted with 
 his own personality. Ellice was too good for 
 such unredeemed rascality. A rapid desire for her 
 sake to get out of the mud, risen like stench to 
 his nostrils, followed. One could sink too low 
 even to have pleasure in the very thing one had 
 sinned for. 
 
 It occurred to him then that he must speak to 
 Gillette, try to make her believe in his sympathy, 
 and show at least some decent feeling as regards 
 this affair. 
 
 "Child, I was a beast to you this afternoon. 
 Will you forgive me? I had not the faintest idea 
 of this, and did not mean in the least what you 
 believe. I was damnably out of temper that 
 was all." 
 
 Gillette's hands moved uneasily. 
 
 "Please don't," she answered, without lifting 
 her head. 
 
 Spenser began to wonder how best to put an 
 immediate and friendly end to the situation. He 
 wanted to get away as soon as possible, but he 
 also wanted to see her sit up with a little more 
 life hi her first. Even his conscience refused to 
 be haunted by her in that spiritless, beaten atti- 
 tude, alone with her undiscardable burden, and 
 with the rain hammering in the silence against 
 her window. He must at least associate himself 
 with her in this circumstance, give her consola- 
 tion enough to retake courage. With an effort 
 he crossed over and sat beside her. WTiether he 
 made her a little happier or not could not change 
 his own dejection, and sympathy must signify
 
 160 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 considerably to a woman with her prospects to 
 front. He put an arm round her shoulder and 
 pulled one inert hand on to his knee. Gillette 
 commenced to shiver spasmodically, and fright- 
 ened him beyond expression. 
 
 "Dear, do you feel so ill? My poor Gillette! 
 why didn't you tell me before? I believe you are 
 in pain." 
 
 "No, no," came from the lowered head. "I 
 am only a little hysterical at this moment. I " 
 
 "We must have the doctor to-night. No, I in- 
 sist. Do you think I am going to let you run 
 the slightest risk? Dearest, I am a brute, but 
 your news has deeply moved me. I do not know 
 whether I am pleased or not; I cannot get be- 
 yond the wretchedness of it for you. But I shall 
 have to take great care of the wife just now, 
 and spoil her if I can. Poor little one! I wish 
 most of all I could prevent you suffering." 
 
 He was quite inclined to believe his own state- 
 ments, so much did her immobility upset him. 
 For a moment after his speech she continued 
 silent; then slowly, with a deep sigh, she raised 
 her head. 
 
 "When you speak to me like this I can scarcely 
 bear the comfort of it," she answered shakily. 
 
 At the sight of her face raised to him for the 
 first time during the interview, Spenser almost 
 started with surprise. In its drawn whiteness 
 it might have been that of a person newly dead. 
 All his repulsion dropped at the sight ; the appeal 
 to pity was irresistible. He felt, even, that he 
 might find a certain pleasure in occupying the
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 161 
 
 time until May in little kindly attentions to her. 
 Drawing her against him, he commenced to whis- 
 per in her ear tender lies he felt would have ap- 
 palled him uttered louder. And when at last, 
 conquered, Gillette drew herself up to him like a 
 child seeking shelter, and burst into tears, he was 
 actually relieved at the torrent. The pain that 
 had been like an exhalation from her in the pre- 
 vious attitude had filled the room with something 
 so oppressive, so inhuman, so out of all bearable 
 limits, that Spenser had felt at last as if chilled 
 to the very marrow of his bones. 
 11
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 Dr. Priestley, who came the following morn- 
 ing, found the patient unnaturally weak, and 
 expressed himself, besides, as not entirely satis- 
 fied with certain symptoms shown. To Spenser's 
 surprise, he remarked that his wife could not be 
 by any means a strong woman. For a time at 
 least, consequently, it was imperative that she 
 should lie up; a little gentle driving, or, better 
 still, a daily bath-chair ride, was the extent of 
 the exercise he could permit. Every precaution 
 must be taken to prevent an excess of fatigue. 
 He should call and see her again shortly. 
 
 This information increased Spenser's growing 
 bewilderment. Already, since the previous after- 
 noon, he had been possessed by a feeling that 
 nothing retained its normal aspect. The very 
 house might have been new, so extraordinarily 
 did his approaching paternity appear to alter 
 the very furniture. He looked at the color of a 
 wall-paper or a chair, and found it unlike what 
 he had supposed. It might have been seen for 
 the first time, so significant did it suddenly ap- 
 pear to him. 
 
 After lunch, to his unutterable relief, Sidney 
 Crawford arrived. For the first time in his life 
 Spenser felt an intense desire to confide in some- 
 body. Why this, of all things, he could not
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 163 
 
 imagine, except that by so doing he might per- 
 haps get the incident back into perspective. As 
 it was, it overtopped the entire fabric of exist- 
 ence. The two men had not been together five 
 minutes, therefore, before he told Crawford the 
 new state of affairs. 
 
 Crawford, who was filling his pipe, replied that 
 he was already aware of Mrs. Spenser's condi- 
 tion, and could not understand how the other 
 had escaped seeing the growing look of delicacy 
 her face had worn for some weeks past. 
 
 The two men sat together most of the after- 
 noon, fitfully discussing women and their dis- 
 tinct vocation. Crawford had come over to play 
 billiards, but they sat on by the fire, languid 
 with the indolence of a warm room in winter. 
 At last Crawford asked where Mrs. Spenser was, 
 and proposed that they should go and keep her 
 company, it being the time of day when she would 
 be most likely to suffer depression, and fall a prey 
 to the many fears women were apt to endure at 
 such periods. 
 
 They found Gillette in a loose black gown, lying 
 on the settee. Crawford had only once seen her 
 idle before. Now she lay inert, as if her head and 
 shoulders were kept by a heavy weight to the 
 sofa, while her hands, at one time so red, were 
 quite white against the shapeless black of her 
 gown. 
 
 Spenser did not stay with them long. His 
 restlessness soon grew out of bounds in the pres- 
 ence of his wife, and the fact that her person 
 now reiterated every time he turned in her direc-
 
 164 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 tion increased disturbance. He had no sooner 
 gone than Crawford inquired if Mrs. Spenser did 
 not care to read, and so while away the tedious 
 slowness of the hours : her unprecedented idleness 
 had to him something so pathetic. 
 
 Gillette replied that for the most part she felt 
 too weary to follow the lines. At her answer a 
 sudden idea entered Crawford's head. Suppose 
 he were to offer to read to her? Would it give 
 him pleasure? Yes; to do something for this 
 woman would yield a real sense of satisfaction, 
 and her gratitude would be more than repay, 
 ment. He did not want to fall in love any more. 
 It was too expensive, too wearisome, too bind- 
 ing and too disillusionizing. To soil even the 
 very beginning, moreover, there was always the 
 knowledge of the inevitable rupture at the end. 
 But to be a brother or friend to some woman 
 one had just tenderness enough for to be glad 
 to serve, and not enough to stay awake over, 
 would ameliorate the barren selfishness of his 
 existence. 
 
 In a rush of excitement, therefore, he proposed 
 with her consent, to come and read out loud 
 sometimes while she continued to be confined to 
 the sofa. She had admitted latterly not having 
 read Robert Louis Stevenson's books. He sug- 
 gested that it would be an extreme pleasure to 
 read them to her, and to discuss them together 
 afterward. 
 
 As usual, Crawford's enthusiasm carried him 
 unexpected distances. Gillette was the last per- 
 son from whom he had any reason to expect
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 165 
 
 charming discussions. And, as a matter of fact, 
 his proposal terrified her inordinately, though 
 she could not but feel touched by the kindness of 
 the proposal. She thanked him, therefore, admit- 
 ting a desire to read some of Louis Stevenson's 
 writings. 
 
 Crawford, always heart and soul in the idea of 
 the moment, suggested then and there making a 
 list of books, and when Spenser returned subse- 
 quently he found them peacefully occupied in ar- 
 ranging the order in which the volumes chosen 
 should be read. 
 
 The inclination of the latter was to sneer. 
 Really, Crawford's warm-heartedness resulted in 
 as much folly as his less desirable qualities. To 
 read to some women, well and good. Nobody, 
 for instance, was more charming to read aloud 
 to than Ellice. But Gillette! Why, she would 
 probably utter an endless prayer during its con- 
 tinuance to avoid hearing any godless passage. 
 Friend Crawford, with his exaggerated benevo- 
 lence, was making a fool of himself. 
 
 Nevertheless, the readings commenced next day, 
 and continued with rare exceptions for the next 
 six weeks. To Gillette they became an invalu- 
 able recreation. Crawford read well, and was 
 consistently careful in the kind of literature he 
 brought before her notice. He arrived usually 
 at four or half-past, just after the lamp, covered 
 with a red shade, had been brought into the room, 
 The light, placed conveniently for the reader, left 
 Gillette in shadow. Crawford saw her only as 
 a black mass, with white hands and indistinct
 
 166 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 features that borrowed an illusive beauty in the 
 gloom. If he perceived anything clearly, it was 
 her eyes, her great benevolent eyes, full of holi- 
 ness and peace. In the end, moreover, Crawford 
 felt as if the grace of her mind acted physically 
 upon her body, making her, as she lay there help- 
 less in her black draperies, an actually fascinating 
 and attractive woman. One incontestable beauty, 
 as a matter of fact, besides her eyes, he did dis- 
 cover in her at this time, for Gillette suffered in- 
 creasingly from a nervous sense of oppression in 
 her clothes. Nothing seemed loose enough for 
 her, and her throat choked in the compression 
 of her neck-bands. Finally she discarded all cov- 
 ering for the throat at all. Her black tea-gowns 
 were finished off either by collarettes of real lace 
 or a black chiffon fichu trailing to the feet, both 
 of which left the neck exposed. Never before had 
 Crawford seen a woman's throat more beautiful, 
 more absolutely milk-white. Against the black 
 of her robe it became dazzling, while the little 
 hollow below drew him with a direct appeal he 
 would have thought it previously impossible for 
 this woman to exercise. 
 
 Every day these readings became more con- 
 genial to him. To know Gillette, as Ellice had 
 once said to Spenser, was to obtain many pleas- 
 ant surprises. Crawford she amused incessantly 
 by the nai've originality of her mind, so little 
 having been acquired from the conventions or 
 from literature, that her thoughts had the fresh- 
 ness of things springing newly out of fragrant 
 soil. It was his own impulsive manner, his many
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 167 
 
 confessions and intimate exposures, which gained 
 for him a certain return of frankness. Where so 
 much was freely uttered, the mind took courage 
 to yield at least some measure of response. Craw- 
 ford's quick intuition, besides his deep if transient 
 sympathy, and his acute divination of half-uttered 
 thoughts, drew his companion at last into com- 
 plete unconstraint. To Crawford, in a few weeks, 
 as to Ellice, Gillette spoke as she thought, with- 
 out fear or reserve, and so beautiful were some 
 of the fancies Crawford acquired insight into, 
 that he felt frequently as if his afternoons with 
 her were a spiritual purification. He came away 
 from them with a sense of having washed recently 
 in clean spring waters, or of having been long in 
 some sweet-smelling, quiet country, where the birds 
 had sung and the breeze had been pure and restoring. 
 
 She was very ill during this period, and anxiety 
 intensified the place she commenced to occupy in 
 his thoughts and life. On a second examination, 
 Dr. Priestley expressed himself no better satisfied, 
 and the three months of delicacy still to run could 
 not but be serious ones to all those constantly 
 about her. Spenser himself came to treat her at 
 last with actual tenderness and consideration. 
 The possibility of an awful death was a horror 
 that even his callousness found unendurable. 
 
 A London specialist had been called in, and 
 expressed fear of a difficult and dangerous ac- 
 couchement. It was doubtful whether one could 
 hope for an instant to save the child without 
 sacrificing the mother. Crawford, when informed 
 of the specialist's opinion, retired and cried like
 
 168 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 a child in the garden. He knew that she wor- 
 shipped children, He saw in her eyes, he heard 
 in her voice already, the joy and wonder of moth- 
 erhood. To deny her that after her bitter agony, 
 how cruel it seemed ! And she herself might not 
 recover ! The fear was like great -wastes of livid 
 ice gathered round his imagination. He could 
 not conceive himself now without her gentle, 
 wise, impracticable teachings. 
 
 He returned to the house with his fat, good- 
 humored face grotesque through its incongruous 
 look of misery. Spenser was walking up and 
 down. He explained the arrangements made by 
 the specialist, into whose hands the case had now 
 been given. Crawford drew a breath of relief. 
 The man could not have a reputation for nothing ; 
 it must be through his dexterity in cases such as 
 Gillette's. He would pull her through safe enough? 
 and at the thought a load of misery seemed 
 drawn from off his person. 
 
 Spenser, meanwhile, felt his passion for Ellice 
 strangely subdued by the unexpected danger hang- 
 ing about the house. This latter bewildered him 
 as an incredible idea ; but he knew that he shrank 
 back horrified at any possibility of freedom 
 through Gillette's death. No adoring husband 
 could feel more spontaneity in the desire to save 
 her at any cost. And thank God! he exclaimed 
 to himself once, that he was still, in such a crisis^ 
 able to feel so. Indeed, for a time, the new turn 
 of events cooled his feelings for Ellice to little 
 more than a vague regret. Meanwhile, he had 
 spoken to Gillette upon the subject of her mother's
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 169 
 
 visit, stating that under the present circumstancs 
 he earnestly desired her presence. 
 
 His manner was so inexplicably gentle that 
 Gillette became convinced no hopes were enter- 
 tained of her recovery. Quietly and bravely from 
 that day forward she prepared to meet her God. 
 Once or twice at the thought of death her soul 
 was wrung with natural terrors, but for the most 
 part it continued still and unbuffeted. It cost a 
 slight effort, also willingly, to lay down the hap- 
 piness of motherhood. But that done, it grew 
 every day sweeter to anticipate the time when 
 she would serve Christ aided by heavenly vision 
 and insight. Here, through her ignorance and 
 weakness, she so often knew not even the action 
 that was good. 
 
 Sometimes she longed for Ellice. In her grow- 
 ing physical inability she occasionally experienced 
 the need of uttering little wistful thoughts that 
 seemed to gain in force by being withheld from 
 utterance. Her mother, too, she would gladly 
 have had about her ; but she put off day by day 
 sending the permitted invitation. The memory 
 of Spenser's face and manner at his original re- 
 fusal remained too vividly in her imagination; 
 and her first duty lay in striving for his happiness. 
 
 At last Spenser, guessing the reasons which 
 actuated her procrastination, wrote to Mrs. Sin- 
 clair himself, begging her to come at once to her 
 daughter. The same afternoon he asked Gillette 
 if she had told Miss Bastien how unwell she was. 
 Surely, under the circumstances, the latter would 
 like to keep her company. Gillette, however, had
 
 170 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 not written. She seemed to have a delicate prud- 
 ery even toward another woman, and Spenser 
 discovered that Ellice had actually no idea of 
 Gillette's condition. He tried to persuade her 
 then and there to beg the other to come on a 
 visit. Gillette grew red and distressed. It might 
 spoil Ellice' s holiday ; she would rather leave mat- 
 ters. The discussion excited her, and Spenser, 
 whose ignorance concerning such indispositions 
 as Gillette's perpetually caused him unnecessary 
 alarms, stopped abruptly for fear of producing 
 one of the heart attacks she was latterly liable to. 
 But the proposal haunted him. The idea had 
 arisen brusquely as he wrote to Mrs. Sinclair. 
 Only once conceived, he could not shake it off. 
 He reiterated to himself its perfect harmlessness. 
 There was no question even of making love to 
 Ellice while this other woman continued ill and 
 in danger. But her presence in the house would 
 lighten its heaviness for them all. Gillette could 
 not but be gladdened by it, and he himself was 
 in almost equal need of some sympathetic com- 
 panion. When Gillette was in bed, or asleep, or 
 with her mother, for instance, how comfortable 
 to sit and tell his terrors to Ellice, or harmlessly 
 refresh an overwrought brain by a little laughter 
 and triviality ! He would not kiss her ; she should 
 be as safe as when the waters parted them ; but, 
 oh ! the unutterable repose of knowing her there j 
 in the house, of seeing her at all hours of the 
 day, watching her, remembering her. Half the 
 nightmares of his life would slink out of sight 
 at the first vision of her presence.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 171 
 
 How could he compass her visit? The least hint 
 of the doctor's fears would, he knew, be sufficient 
 to bring her. Could he write himself, and tell 
 the state of affairs? Gillette would only see in 
 his letter a touching solicitude for her happiness, 
 for nothing but the incontestable evidence of her 
 own eyes could stir an evil suspicion in a breast 
 so pure. For two days he hesitated. Then Mrs. 
 Sinclair arrived with a torrential quantity of lug- 
 gage. He saw it in the hall, and felt it a sign 
 of perpetuity: Mrs. Sinclair would stay forever. 
 Still, he received her graciously, and even sus- 
 tained a tete-a-tete dinner with a show of friend- 
 liness. But she struck him all the time as more 
 grotesque, more vulgar, more glaring, than ever. 
 When finally, with tears forming a thick paste 
 with the powder on her cheeks, she left, to go and 
 sit with Gillette, he felt that to endure her una- 
 dulterated would drive him absolutely mad. 
 
 That evening he wrote to Ellice. He addressed 
 her as 'Dear friend," and plunged immediately 
 into a statement of affairs. Gillette was not well, 
 and there were internal complications which made 
 a natural illness wear a very grave aspect. 
 
 Dr. D would attend when telegraphed for; 
 
 but it was an anxious time. Gillette had no 
 idea of anything abnormal, but she had be- 
 come, of course, much more ailing than most 
 women, and suffered also mentally a good deal, 
 he thought, from the long-enforced idleness. He 
 also believed that she fretted inwardly to see 
 Ellice. Her disappointment had been intense 
 when she learned the news of her friend's delay
 
 172 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 in returning to England, and for several days 
 afterward she had appeared very quiet and de- 
 spondent. Mrs. Sinclair was with them now, 
 but Spenser considered that she worried her 
 daughter incessantly by injudicious conversation. 
 Would she Ellice be likely to return to England 
 within the next six weeks? If so, would she come 
 and help to ease Gillette's weary days a little? 
 It would be an unspeakable comfort and delight 
 to the poor invalid, and take a weight off his 
 own mind also, for he felt incessantly that she 
 had no one at the moment she could speak freely 
 to about herself. A woman was often too shy 
 upon these occasions to be quite frank even with 
 her own husband, and he was quite certain that 
 Gillette must often desire to utter the little con- 
 fidences only possible to a member of her own 
 sex. 
 
 There was nothing else in the letter. Spenser 
 read it through, sneeringly amused at the devoted 
 husband suggested by it. Five days later came 
 the answer. It was brief enough. She wrote : 
 
 "DEAR FRIEND: Thank you for your kindness 
 in letting me know of Gillette's illness. I had no 
 idea of it. If you will both have me, I leave 
 here to-morrow, and will come straight to Rook 
 House to take care of my poor Gillette as long 
 as she will let me. What you say has troubled 
 me more than I can tell you. We cannot, any of 
 us, do too much for her now. 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "ELLICE BASTEEN."
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 173 
 
 Spenser felt delirious as he read. For the cold- 
 ness of her letter he did not care a button. She 
 was coming! The very house seemed on the in- 
 stant holding its breath. He went immediately 
 to Gillette's boudoir. Mrs. Sinclair, in a break- 
 fast-gown smothered in soiled lace and dirty rib- 
 bons, was examining a sea of delicate infant 
 robes just arrived by post. Gillette was bend- 
 ing over a closely filled letter from Ellice. Just 
 for a second at the sight Spenser's heart beat 
 hard with sudden terror. What if she saw any- 
 thing suspicious in his correspondence? But the 
 moment she perceived him she put out her hand 
 with a smile of gratitude. 
 
 "Well, little one," he said, taking the cold fin- 
 gers extended to him, and trying to keep his 
 voice from betraying agitation. 
 
 "Dear, I don't know how to thank you. There 
 is nothing you could have done sweeter to me. 
 Ellice is coming!" 
 
 "Yes, she is coming." The repetition came from 
 him almost unconsciously. Her innocent grati- 
 tude calmed him like an opiate. He kissed her, 
 and sat for a time stroking the back of her hand. 
 Then he turned away, wondering whether his 
 present monstrous pretences in behavior were 
 not as great a cruelty as his previous candor. 
 Well, well, he reflected, for the time being, it was 
 the only possible conduct, and the future lay 
 sheathed and invisible. Then wildly, like a tri- 
 umphant populace surging through a town, there 
 rushed over him a vivid consciousness that the 
 nothingness of the winter was over. The woman
 
 174 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 he worshipped, the woman who created madness 
 in his veins, and a longing like a veritable sick- 
 ness of constitution, was at last to confront his 
 influence once more. 
 
 Destiny would decide what the future should 
 bring forth.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Three days later Ellice arrived. Spenser met 
 her at the station. Emotion was apparently ex- 
 hausted. As he drove from the house he had 
 never felt more calm, more indifferent. He com- 
 pared himself to a sea not a breeze stirs. At 
 the station he bought a paper, and glanced over 
 it until the train crawled alongside the platform. 
 Then for a second he felt the air grow hot about 
 him, and all his flesh become articulate. A mo- 
 ment later the carriage doors were opened, and 
 almost in front of where he stood Ellice Bastien 
 stepped out. 
 
 She came toward him dressed in black, with a 
 white tulle bow under her chin. He stared at 
 her as if a stranger, and, in fact, for the space 
 of a second she seemed to him a stranger. In 
 his mind's eye he had called her up all the winter 
 as she was in their tenderest passages, eyes and 
 mouth alive, eager as a lover's whisper. Her 
 eyes especially he had grown to conceive as al- 
 ways dark, with the pupils enlarged and shining. 
 This woman stepping on to the platform was an 
 elegant fair-haired creature, very smart, very 
 pretty, but a little cold in expression. Her ap- 
 pearance staggered him as a violent blow might 
 have done. This was not a woman to sacrifice 
 her reputation to any man. Her heart was like
 
 176 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 a cool crystal in her breast. One had only to 
 look at her serene, warm pallor, her passionless 
 lips, to feel the impossibility of infusing a des- 
 perate ardor. Spenser felt himself in the brief 
 space of their mutual advance collapse like an 
 air-bubble. His very clothes seemed suddenly to 
 hang looser upon him. All aim and all zest in 
 life were fleeing. The stranger he walked to greet 
 was the very last woman in creation to yield to 
 a trouble of heart. 
 
 "How is she? Your letter has alarmed me un- 
 speakably." 
 
 Ah, it was the old rich, inimitable voice; it 
 ran through the man's veins like a hot liquid. 
 She showed a little glimmering of white teeth as 
 she spoke, and a hammering commenced in Spen- 
 ser's temples. He answered mechanically that 
 Gillette was pretty well, and feverish for her 
 arrival. They got into the carriage and sat side 
 by side, Ellice still asking questions of her friend. 
 Spenser felt stifled. The faint scent of violets 
 clung, as always, to his companion's clothes, and 
 as he drew it into his nostrils a rushing crowd 
 of memories assailed him. To sit together in this 
 narrow, secluded space and behave as strangers be- 
 came appalling. When had they ever driven before 
 without their hands joining, without lips touch- 
 ing incessantly? Should he seize her face in his 
 hands now and by force subdue her into natural- 
 ness? But was she feeling anything at all? Had 
 she no memory, even, this woman? In the few- 
 past months he had aged by many years. She 
 came back to him with the same smiling face,
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 177 
 
 empty, he told himself bitterly empty of every- 
 thing but emotionless beauty. If there had been 
 but one line telling of a wearing heart-sickness, 
 great God! how he would have worshipped it! 
 But she sat beside him easy, undisturbed, talk- 
 ing pleasantly to a man who was her friend's 
 husband, nothing more. His head swam; he 
 answered her more and more briefly. Should he 
 seize hold of her as he desired from the beginning? 
 Women expected a show of force; it was their 
 stupid salve to conscience. They could protest 
 afterward to have been resistless in the clutches 
 of brute force. In this case he felt it would be 
 either a stroke of genius or insanity. At last 
 Ellice lapsed into silence. She sat looking quiet 
 and at ease, as if not a breath of feeling rippled 
 the tranquillity of her soul. 
 
 Spenser could endure his agony no longer. 
 Turning to her brusquely, he drew her with a 
 sudden violent movement toward him and com- 
 menced to kiss her wildly. She struggled, tried 
 to speak, resisted furiously with her hands ; Spen- 
 ser only grasped her more tightly. The carriage 
 commenced to pass the straggling cottages at 
 the commencement of the village. Spenser cared 
 for nothing but the subjugation of the struggling 
 creature he held. Temporarily he felt as if pos- 
 sessed. Sooner than relinquish her unconquered, 
 he could have killed both the girl and himself; 
 no power on earth should make him loosen his 
 hold until by the relaxation of all antagonistic 
 effort this woman confessed her secret. And sud- 
 denly the hands dropped passive, the lids closed ; 
 12
 
 178 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 throughout her body Spenser felt unconscious sur- 
 render. She lay in his arms of her own free will. 
 Slowly he withdrew his face from hers. 
 
 "Beloved!" he said, conscious of ecstasy, and 
 keeping her hands in his. 
 
 The landscape seemed to him blurred; he had 
 no idea where they were. Pulling down the win- 
 dow at his side of the carriage, he stretched his 
 head out for a second or two. The current of 
 icy air restored his brain : slowly he realized their 
 position. In ten minutes they would be in Gil. 
 lette's boudoir. He turned and looked at his 
 companion. She was adjusting her hat, pulling 
 down again the veil he had pushed up from her 
 mouth, and taking off the net bow, crumpled 
 past recognition. The necessary banality of her 
 occupation, with the practical atmosphere it re- 
 created about them, shocked him. He had ex- 
 pected a flood of reproaches, to encounter her 
 aghast, panting, bewildered out of all rationalism. 
 And she adjusted her apparel as if after some 
 simple trivial disarrangement. But when she 
 had done so she spoke, and her voice at any 
 rate was not unaffected ; it shook, trembling and 
 disordered. Obviously, it proved easier to repair 
 externals than the piteous force let loose within ; 
 nothing more grief-shaken than her voice could 
 be conceived. 
 
 "If a repetition of this takes place, I leave your 
 house immediately!" 
 
 She had scarcely breath enough to utter the 
 last word with. Spenser suppressed a smile; he 
 held her now. She was only beating ineffective
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 179 
 
 wings against the net, his little caught bird. 
 For the future she was his. 
 
 "I was mad. You need not be afraid: there 
 shall be no repetition. The sight of you disturbed 
 me past control. I worship you ; I have starved 
 for want of you a whole winter. Every day for 
 months I have felt a little drop of my life-blood 
 oozing away in insensate longing. Now I am 
 healed; I can last for a time, because at last I 
 have kissed you once more. In the end I shall 
 die of you, Ellice, but for the present I am saved. 
 To see you in the house will be enough." 
 
 They had turned into the drive. Close to the 
 carriage on either side rhododendron bushes 
 dripped as the wheels swished past them. It 
 had been pouring with rain until mid-day; since 
 then a gray mist permeated the atmosphere. It 
 clung to the ground, to the trees, to everything, 
 like a weak despair, afraid of itself, and turning 
 anywhere for sympathy. As the carriage brushed 
 past the bushes, a shower of rain-drops blew in 
 upon Spenser's face ; but he felt them as a refresh- 
 ment, a life-giving, propitious incident. 
 
 Ellice, meanwhile, stared at him with an ab- 
 sorbed consternation. 
 
 "Are you mad?" she asked, but not dramat- 
 ically. 
 
 Her voice was still quivering and disconcerted- 
 
 Spenser then remembered that she knew nothing 
 of the passion suddenly born in him on the day 
 of her announced engagement. The fact put him 
 out. He desired to be past all explanation. Now, 
 practically, he would have to retrace his steps,
 
 180 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 dig up old ground, make long and tedious con. 
 fessions. They -were nearing the front door ; there 
 was no time even for a brief statement now. 
 
 "No, I am not mad; but I have lived through 
 a curious transformation since I saw you last. 
 Do you know what love and passion are, Ellice?" 
 
 He gazed at her with lean, haggard face. The 
 woman leaned back against the carriage feeling 
 her heart swollen, till the thin envelope of her 
 frame was near to creaking. She could not go 
 to Gillette; not even her strength of will could 
 control the delirium soaking into her. For years 
 she had waited to hear the words this man had 
 tittered to-day for the first time. The carriage 
 drew up at the house. She took the arm Spen- 
 ser offered her to walk up the steps ; she did not 
 feel the strength to stand unaided. The library 
 was nearest. He took her into it, and she fell 
 back instantly into an armchair by the fire. For 
 an instant she sat staring silently in front of 
 her, gripped by the power of a dream ; and Spen- 
 ser stood opposite to her, drinking in her pres- 
 ence, and the fact she betrayed to him as surely 
 as if she had stripped her soul to reveal it. Gil- 
 lette had passed from both their lives. 
 
 "She looks like a bride," thought Spenser, and 
 he hugged in his heart the beautiful change that 
 had melted the cold face he had encountered at 
 the station. 
 
 The eyes the long, soft eyes, like brown velvet 
 were alive once more, all pupil, all tenderness. 
 She was indeed, as she sat there, a perfect embodi- 
 ment of intense, contained emotion emotion re-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 181 
 
 fined to a white heat, clear of all extraneous 
 matter; emotion hot to luminousness, glowing 
 till its light became mysterious and profound. 
 
 Suddenly her position commenced to lose its 
 hypnotized immobility. He saw the crude, bare 
 facts of life encroaching again, felt them encour- 
 aged, realized that she was desperately dragging 
 herself back out of the enchanted realms of her 
 dream. She sat upright, and slowly pulled off 
 her veil. 
 
 "I am going up to Gillette, but I would prefer 
 to go alone. Which room is she in?" 
 
 She did not look at him, but her voice had its 
 natural quality once more. 
 
 Spenser explained the room now turned into 
 Gillette's boudoir. When he ceased speaking > 
 Ellice looked up at him. Her glance was steady 
 and self-possessed. 
 
 "You will remember, will you not? that any 
 repetition of this afternoon's mistake, and I leave 
 the house immediately." 
 
 Just before dinner he went into Gillette's bou- 
 doir. Ellice was sitting in a low chair by the 
 side of Gillette's couch. The two women held 
 each other's hands, and at the sight of them it 
 seemed to him that excitement literally oozed 
 from his drenched brain. The vision of Ellice, 
 moreover, with her outdoor things removed, 
 visibly come to stay, filled him with a sudden 
 fear of betraying himself, so great was the com- 
 motion her actual presence, compassed at last^ 
 set up in him. He dared not even look in her 
 direction, from the uncertainty of what, without
 
 182 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 his knowledge, might instantly leap into his ex- 
 pression. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair followed him into the room, how- 
 ever, and after a few minutes of her unsentimental 
 conversation Spenser was able to tell himself once 
 more that for a man of forty he had grown ridic- 
 ulous. His nervous exhilaration, his dread of be- 
 trayal, his guilty discomfort in the presence of 
 Gillette, were all the raw tortures of a boy launch- 
 ing upon his first intrigue. As a matter of fact, 
 how trifling the whole incident was! He had 
 kissed a pretty woman in a brougham voila 
 tout. Yet he made the statement without satis- 
 faction or sincerity. 
 
 For the next few days Ellice continued exclu- 
 sively occupied with her friend. Spenser bore the 
 first week admirably, feeling ample time before 
 him. Besides, he had sworn to respect his wife's 
 illness. Once well, she could fight for herself like 
 the rest of the world ; prostrate, deliberately to 
 deceive her was like kicking one fallen and de- 
 fenceless. But by the second week the girl's per- 
 sistency commenced to irritate him. She seemed 
 afraid to walk from one room to another without 
 company. And the sight of her, glued perpetu- 
 ally to Gillette's sofa, ended by arousing a pain- 
 ful jealousy. They had always a hand one in the 
 other's, these two; while in Ellice's eyes, when 
 she looked at his \vife, came the same soft light 
 with which long ago she had gazed at him. He 
 felt sick whenever she turned toward Gillette^ 
 while, at the same time, it was practically only 
 in the latter's room that he could see her. Fre-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 183 
 
 quently, however, having heard her tune her very 
 voice to be a caress for the weary woman on the 
 sofa, he felt his veins like whipcord, while his 
 fingers itched to shake the detested gentleness 
 out of her. 
 
 Occasionally, then, he went and sought out 
 Crawford, dragging him a long, aimless ride, in 
 order to work off the excess of his disquietude. 
 In an hour he would feel better. Once, even, out 
 of a senseless impulse to test his own nerve and 
 effrontery, he said to Crawford on the way back : 
 
 "There's no longer any place for one up there. 
 Miss Bastien seems to have monopolized atten- 
 tion." 
 
 He laughed as he concluded. It gave him an 
 unaccountable pleasure to be able to use Ellice's 
 name glibly. He felt it like an assurance against 
 discovery. 
 
 Crawford made no reply. Inwardly he asked 
 himself what the devil Spenser meant by the re- 
 mark. It appeared the utterance of a man jeal- 
 ously afraid of being ousted in his wife's affec- 
 tions. But Crawford had seen enough to know 
 that Spenser did not care a brass button for his 
 wife. Ellice Bastien, moreover, had been shad- 
 owed by him for years. For once he regarded 
 the other with an almost stealthy scrutiny. Spen- 
 ser's set face was hard and bitter-looking ; it was 
 certainly not the face of a lover, but Crawford 
 remained uneasy, nevertheless. 
 
 Since Mrs. Sinclair's arrival his own afternoon 
 readings had ceased; to his surprise, causing 
 quite an appreciable blank in his existence. He
 
 184 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 still called almost daily, and sat with the three 
 ladies for an hour or so; but in a mild degree 
 he also suffered from the inseparableness of the 
 two women. He missed the delicate intimacy of 
 the old tete-a-tetes. They had been as a spiri- 
 tual bath to him, and he felt his atmosphere grow 
 turbid now without this washing and refresh- 
 ment. Indeed, Crawford was not altogether 
 light-hearted at this period ; he could not get 
 easy with himself. To look upon the past was 
 to see such an area of mud to see, indeed, he 
 felt, very little else. And for some weird reason 
 he found himself to have grown sick of mud, and 
 appalled at being immersed in it. It was, in fact, 
 becoming a necessity to him, and all because of 
 this new fraternal affection for a plain woman, 
 sofa-ridden with an unbecoming illness, to emerge 
 from nastiness, to get his life whitewashed and 
 scrubbed, made sweet-smelling and clean. 
 
 He did not like Spenser's remark, therefore: it 
 suggested a desire to befool and mislead. That 
 evening he dined at Rook House, and, looking 
 the epitome of placid inertia, watched narrowly 
 both his host and the woman he had once 
 thought to have been the latter' s fiancee. Miss 
 Bastien had altered, and he did not altogether 
 like the alteration; her whole appearance sug- 
 gested to him a moment of intense emotionability . 
 He had never seen her eyes so dark, so inscrut- 
 able; moreover, her lips, her skin, everything 
 about her, had a new indescribable glow. A deep, 
 radiant excitement was the only definition he 
 could find for the effect given by her appearance.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 185 
 
 D 
 
 And her friend whom she pretended to adore was 
 lying upstairs in possible danger of her life. What 
 had she, therefore, to glow for? 
 
 Spenser himself looked much as usual, stern, 
 handsome, disagreeable; but he talked far more 
 than ordinarily. His eyes, moreover, turned in. 
 cessantly to the girl sitting on his right, and 
 Crawford saw in their gaze a look as if they de- 
 sired to constrain her by sheer strength of will 
 into some response denied them. Crawford did 
 not like the manner of either, and told himself 
 so. Spenser, besides, appeared to be drinking as 
 if to produce atrophy of the brain. 
 
 After dinner the two women rose to return to 
 Gillette. Crawford, who in his present mood 
 did not feel anxious to be left with his host, 
 asked Mrs. Sinclair if he might not come up for 
 a few minutes and pay his respects to Mrs. Spen- 
 ser. 
 
 "Why, of course ; she'll be delighted, delighted ! 
 Why, she's just devoted to you, is Gillette. You've 
 been a real good friend to her," replied Mrs. Sin- 
 clair ardently, and tucking her little arm famil- 
 iarly through that of her immense companion. 
 
 But they had no sooner entered Gillette's room 
 before Crawford saw there would be no conver- 
 sation that evening, or for many evenings to 
 come. She was sitting upright on the settee, 
 her untasted dinner still on the table at her side. 
 Her face was drawn ; her lips were the color of a 
 slate-pencil. Her hair looked disordered, as if 
 she had just pushed her fingers through it in a 
 paroxysm of pain. She rose to her feet as they
 
 186 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 entered, and with a smile, rendered beautiful and 
 touching by the physical agony it overcame, gave 
 him her hand. It was wet with perspiration, 
 cold as ice. The tears rose to Crawford's eyes 
 as he took it. 
 
 "Will you forgive me? I am afraid I must go 
 to my room. I am not very well to-night." 
 
 Her voice, like her smile, quivered with an- 
 guish. Crawford felt as if below the simple, 
 courteous words he could hear murmuring: "Oh, 
 I suffer, I suffer ! I am in hell, but I will be brave ! 
 You see I am brave in order not to give you 
 pain." 
 
 He led her to the door, retaining her hand un- 
 consciously. Truly, if he could he would have 
 born every pang of agony for her. At the door 
 she looked up and smiled at him once more with 
 a pathetic sweetness of expression. 
 
 "How good you are! Good-night, and thank 
 you." 
 
 Crawford did not think of the Divine arrange- 
 meats at that moment.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 "Spenser, your wife is ill. Mrs. Sinclair wishes 
 the doctor sent for immediately. I am just going 
 to fetch the local man, and to wire for the other 
 and the nurse. Write me addresses, will you, old 
 man? while I get them to bring round my horse." 
 
 Spenser turned gray, dropping the paper he was 
 reading on to the floor. A shiver passed through 
 him. Horror had stalked into the house. From 
 this moment, and for an indefinite period, every 
 obscure, hideous, repugnant possibility was ten- 
 able! He rose with an unpremeditated impulse 
 to rush upstairs and see for himself if Craw- 
 ford's statement were really true. She had only 
 been ill seven months. Then he remembered he 
 must find the addresses. A good sort, Crawford, 
 he said to himself, to do all this; servants were 
 so slow and so stupid. Ought he to go himself? 
 He had no idea, the suddenness of the news stupe- 
 fying him. Both the doctor's and the nurse's 
 address were in Gillette's boudoir. He got up and 
 went to fetch them, feeling the silence of the house 
 to be unnatural. He expected to hear shrieks, 
 bells rung frantically, servants rushing up and 
 down the stairs. Perhaps Crawford had been 
 mistaken. But no: he brought the statement 
 from Mrs. Sinclair, who could not but know. 
 
 When the former had left the house he went to
 
 188 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Gillette's bedroom. For a minute or so he stood 
 listening to the confused sounds inside; he could 
 hear the rustle of his mother-in-law's gown. She 
 and Ellice seemed to be moving about the whole 
 time. He could hear them speaking now and again 
 in a sort of cooing fashion, though what they 
 said remained inaudible to him. Irresistible terror 
 invaded his frame as he listened. To save his life 
 he felt he could not have looked upon the scene 
 taking place inside. Finally, he commenced to 
 walk up and down the passage, longing for cour- 
 age to enter the bedroom, and held back by a 
 fear that grew through his ignorance. Every 
 minute he hoped Ellice, at least, would come out 
 to report to him. Vaguely, moreover, he felt it 
 was not a scene for her, and his impatience for 
 her appearance increased; she would suffer, be- 
 sides, to see the other's anguish. Then, at last, 
 he knocked at the door. After a pause Ellice her- 
 self answered it. 
 
 "You cannot see Gillette, but she sends you her 
 love, and says you are not to be troubled, for 
 pain that is to bring such happiness is itself half 
 joy." 
 
 Her words came curtly, as if she were too occu- 
 pied to put life into them. 
 
 "Is she in much pain?" he asked, shivering al- 
 ready at the answer he knew would come. 
 
 "I am afraid so; but she will not let me stay. 
 She was sending me to keep you company. Your 
 possible anxiety is one of her chief thoughts." 
 
 They went down the stairs in silence, and, once 
 in the drawing-room, the girl flung herself upon
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 189 
 
 the sofa exhausted. While she lay there, keeping 
 her lids closed, as if light were abhorrent to them, 
 Spenser fetched a brandy-and-soda from the din- 
 ing-room ; then he came back, shut the door, and 
 allowed a slow enervation to creep into his sys- 
 tem. They would be alone together for another 
 hour, possibly for the better part of the night. 
 
 Ellice drank the brandy-and-soda without speak- 
 ing; then she slowly drew herself up into a sitting 
 posture. 
 
 "I am cold," she said, and went and sat upon 
 the hearth-rug before the fire. 
 
 But at the end of a few minutes she commenced 
 to walk restlessly about the room. Her heart 
 was still with the woman upstairs, felt Spenser, 
 and he struggled vainly to suppress anger. What 
 good could it do to go through a useless martyr- 
 dom also? It might be weeks before another tete- 
 -tete was granted them. 
 
 "Ellice, sit still. The doctor will be here di- 
 rectly. Won't you rest your head against my 
 shoulder, and let us, dear, have at least the com- 
 fort of one another? It must be a night of hor- 
 rors for all of us. For my sake grant me some 
 innocent concession; for this is worse for me 
 than any one. Marrying her as I did, I have to 
 feel a brute besides everything else." 
 
 He was not acting. The first touch of Ellice' s 
 hand extended compassionately to his, and sin- 
 cerity issued from him unawares. She was stand- 
 ing with her head thrown back, as if strained to 
 catch the least sound coming from outside. Spen- 
 ser felt certain that she realized very vaguely, if
 
 190 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 at all, in whose companionship she was, Then 
 suddenly glancing round at him, the liquid brown 
 eyes became aware and contemplative. At last, 
 he knew^, she also felt that they were alone to- 
 gether. Like a passing flash fear entered and dis- 
 appeared in her eyes. Spenser's pulse quickened. 
 The expression had been instantaneous only, but 
 the fear, he could swear, was not. She was afraid 
 to be alone with him, even for an hour ; and she 
 was right. In the few minutes they had passed 
 together closed in from observation his mind had 
 undergone a terrible alteration ; already her pres- 
 ence commenced to act upon him like a narcotic. 
 All that was taking place upstairs had begun 
 slowly to recede out of his understanding. The 
 doctor would come, of course, and for hours 
 everybody but himself and Ellice would be sucked 
 into the whirlpool of agony taking place on the 
 other landing. But these hours represented noth- 
 ing to him now but the presence of Ellice ; the 
 other had less hold than a dream remembered. 
 
 "George, remember that Gillette is in mortal 
 pain that her very life is in danger!" 
 
 He was looking at the girl with an unconscious 
 intensity, and she drew her hand out of his clasp 
 once more. But in her own eyes a new expres- 
 sion of yearning gleamed indiscreetly. She moved 
 away toward the table, turning her back to him. 
 From her whole face, however, while she spoke, 
 had issued a haggard desire to put some question 
 sheer force of will crushed into silence. An intoler- 
 able emptiness or uncertainty cried out in her 
 expression for mysterious assurance or satisfac-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 191 
 
 tion. Spenser felt her gaze actually like desperate 
 hands clutching at his flesh, and imploring with 
 an almost distraught frenzy for a life-giving grace 
 withheld. He was fascinated and bewildered both. 
 What a revelation of powerful feeling this lightly 
 smiling woman could be ! Her head, the attitude 
 of her immobile body, the very fashion she had 
 of wearing her hair, as if drawn off the forehead 
 by some passionate hand, all helped to express 
 a consuming excitement, kept inward only by 
 supreme endeavor. And then brusquely she had 
 turned away from him. Spenser also made a 
 clutch at self-control. He repeated to himself 
 mechanically that in a few minutes, probably, 
 the doctor would arrive. At any moment they 
 might be broken in upon. Gillette, moreover, was 
 ill, exceedingly ill, so ill she was the only sub- 
 ject one should think of. But the strange look 
 of hunger and mystification in Ellice's eyes 
 troubled him with a tempest's force. 
 
 "Why did you look at me just now as if asking 
 me a question?" he said brusquely, following her 
 to the round table covered with books and pa- 
 pers. 
 
 "I had no intention of putting any question. 
 I am filled with anxiety, and that may give an 
 unquiet look to my face. Surely the doctor ought 
 to be here by now?" 
 
 If she would only have the tact to leave Gil- 
 lette out of the conversation! thought Spenser. 
 To drag her between them as a preventative to 
 any dangerous discussion was a weak mistake. 
 The mere word on her tongue unsettled him.
 
 192 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 "Iknowyou are anxious," he answered irritably. 
 Then suddenly he burst into an angry laugh. 
 "Bah! you so-called fascinating women are all 
 alike. You have the same tricks, every one of 
 you. And it is all so cheap and so obvious. 
 Your subtlety is about as great as that of an 
 ostrich." 
 
 Ellice had moved back to the fire-place, hold- 
 ing her hands out to the flames. Spenser's eyes 
 were fixed upon her fingers, which in the firelight 
 glowed as if transparent pink. In the glow, more- 
 over, the four jewelled rings he had given her 
 gleamed with a shifting, restless heat. 
 
 The woman looked up astonished. 
 
 "May I ask what you mean?" she said coldly. 
 
 Spenser felt bursting with unaccountable anger : 
 for, as he stood beside her, the faint perfume of 
 violets had reached him from her person. Nothing 
 disturbed him more than the fragrance of a scent 
 become part, as it were, of every memory apper- 
 taining to a particular woman. The tremulous 
 sweetness of the scent used by Ellice, and insep- 
 arable from every recollection of her, entered his 
 brain and senses with an overpowering influence. 
 He felt it physically weaken his entire system. 
 And as he drew painfully upon strength of will 
 to resist the appeal to fling his arms about the 
 other, and so draw this sweet memory-laden scent 
 closer to his nostrils, his eyes fell on her hands, 
 decorated with their fantastically shaped rings. 
 The sight for the first time in his life angered 
 and oppressed him. After all, she was only one 
 of a crowd, caring for the same idiotic parapher-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 193 
 
 nalia of attractiveness, the same stupid gauds 
 and shallow show of mystery. What right had 
 Ellice to fall back upon the monotonous battle 
 array of the vulgar-minded. What need had she 
 to rely upon stupid jewelry for fascination she, 
 charged with it like a vessel full to bursting? 
 Her action lowered and belittled her. She was 
 however, still waiting for an answer, a troubled, 
 childish look creeping to the corners of her mouth. 
 How well he knew that look ! It welded the pres- 
 ent to the past so absolutely that his senses 
 swam. In an instant discretion dropped out of 
 him. 
 
 "What I mean is that I love you, Ellice. Listen 
 to me listen to me ; you must be made to under- 
 stand. I live in hell for want of you: you are all 
 I think of, li ve for, desire. You are like the blood 
 in my veins, necessary to my life as the nerves of 
 my body. It is absurd, and yet is killing me. 
 Sometimes I have asked myself whether I do 
 love you because I can abuse you, criticise you ? 
 revile you; then I see I could as little tear you 
 out of myself as I could a vital organ. You have 
 permeated every particle of my system, and I 
 tell you, Ellice, without exaggeration, I am phys- 
 ically wasting, dying by inches, because of the 
 most damnable mistake ever made by any man." 
 
 He had gripped the hand nearest to him, and he 
 held it while he spoke pressed against his chest. 
 He fancied the warmth of her flesh stole through 
 to his to comfort and appease him. At the first 
 sentence the girl had lifted her head, listening 
 with her lips slightly fallen apart, and showing 
 13
 
 194 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 the small, flake-like teeth between. Gradually her 
 face grew white -with a pallor that expressed a 
 more passionate vitality than any wave of color. 
 She was like a piece of white-hot steel. 
 
 "You have never loved me; you deceive your- 
 self, and what you say is nonsense." 
 
 Slowly, when he ceased speaking, Spenser saw 
 the magnetized absorption pass out of her; but 
 he was not greatly discouraged. The moment 
 she ceased to clutch as a saving-board at the 
 tragedy upstairs he felt illimitable power steal 
 through him. And now at last the occasion had 
 come, at least, for complete understanding thank 
 Fate for that. All his endeavors could only be 
 like the beating of empty air until she knew the 
 insane delusion of three years to have exploded 
 like a pricked balloon. 
 
 "My dear, everything is different to what it 
 was when I saw you last. You do not under- 
 stand. Come and sit on the sofa there. I will 
 sit at your feet, and at any rate make you realize 
 the truth. At least no, I will walk about and 
 tell you; to sit still just now would be impos- 
 sible for me." 
 
 He drew her to the sofa, covered in faded Span- 
 ish silk. But suddenly Ellice made a movement 
 of dissent and returned to the fireplace. 
 
 "No, I must not and will not listen to you. 
 There is only one fact now it is important for 
 either of us to remember. You are the husband 
 of Gillette, and she is ill upstairs ; I am the friend 
 of you both, but there can be nothing imperative 
 for you to tell me; all intimate, urgent subjects
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 195 
 
 are for the discussion of husband and wife I am 
 presuming, of course, that the topic is a personal 
 and grave one, not a matter of business." 
 
 Spenser was not greatly enervated by her state- 
 ment; in fact, it struck him as puny in its futil- 
 ity. His own desire to confess everything was 
 merely stimulated by her resistance to it. He 
 followed, therefore, to the fireplace and in a flood 
 of rapid sentences poured out the truth. She 
 tried repeatedly to check him by interruption, but 
 he drowned her voice by unceasing continuance 
 of his own. Then she made a movement to leave 
 the room. In a second he had hold of her wrist. 
 Meanwhile her ears were being bombarded with 
 information; Spenser left nothing unsaid. From 
 the instant of receiving the first shock of her en- 
 gagement, he confessed every sensation, every re- 
 action, every vacillating step, toward the supreme 
 moment of complete understanding when the 
 words "I love her I love her!" hurled themselves 
 on to his tongue. 
 
 During his rapid narration EUice's eyes never 
 moved from their gaze of the firelight; but he 
 felt, more than saw, that every word he uttered 
 was heard and attended to. When he paused at 
 last, emptied of utterance, a silence, steeped for 
 the man in piteous suspense, followed. To break 
 it, he said softly: 
 
 "Ellice my little one!" 
 
 Slowly she raised her head and looked at him. 
 The expression of her face betrayed nothing. 
 
 "For three years I tried to teach you to love 
 me, and you would not. How pitiable it all is!
 
 196 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 For you never loved me for one single instant 
 until your marriage. Ah, yes ! you said you did ; 
 only / knew it was not true. But, then, the 
 chimera pleased you; I could not but leave it 
 undisturbed. Loving you, I did not want to 
 disperse an illusion evidently of comfort to you ; 
 but I am a very ordinary woman, and not for 
 one moment did I enjoy the pacification of de- 
 ception. Had you loved me even a little, could 
 you have calmly continued for years and denied 
 yourself joy of me? You built up ridiculous fan- 
 cies simply because you had no desire to marry 
 me, and felt some explanation necessary. Yes, 
 you admired me; we were in tune, in sympathy, 
 what you -will. Our natures flung out intuitive 
 tentacles one to the other, but, for some reason 
 I have found difficult to explain, you did not 
 love me. Now it seems you do, probably because 
 to you only the unattainable is fascinating; and 
 because it is too late, and because all the past 
 ends now as I cease speaking, I will confess to 
 you. I loved you for three years to the point 
 of madness. I moulded myself for you, smiled 
 for you, was light to please your whim of happy 
 women ; distorted, suppressed, transformed my 
 whole nature out of insane affection for you; 
 lived, moreover, from the first day to the last 
 in the inflexible hope and intention of making 
 you sooner or later love me. And you would 
 not; in the end came failure. Then you told me 
 of your approaching marriage. We -will pass over 
 a blank interval. As I said before, I am a very 
 ordinary woman I suffered. But, like the aver-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 197 
 
 age human being, having passed through my 
 time of purgatory, I rose up calmed and purified. 
 Now I can only beg and implore you to remem- 
 ber that it is a world where all men pay for 
 their mistakes. I have paid for mine; you also, 
 unfortunately, will have to pay for yours. Be- 
 lieve me, in order to be cured the more quickly, 
 I do not love you any more. I look upon you 
 solely and simply as Gillette's husband. The re- 
 action of feeling, when it came after your mar- 
 riage, was in proportion to the previous madness. 
 Listen; is not that the carriage? George, forget 
 this brief discussion; it has been terrible. And 
 never forget I do not love you. Gillette Gil- 
 lette!" 
 
 She had spoken until the end with a passion- 
 ate coldness. Unlike Spenser, she showed no 
 haste, no impetuosity. Excitement in her case 
 took the form of a concentrated deliberation. 
 She uttered each word as if she desired to fix 
 it in his brain for eternity. There was a mix- 
 ture of bitterness, cruelty, and unquenchable pain 
 in her voice. 
 
 Spenser discerned all three, and experienced a 
 sense of having each separately fused into his 
 system. She had struck hard, and not one of her 
 blows had been aimed at random. In the con- 
 fused inflow of transitory thoughts, he dwelt 
 vaguely upon the invariable cruelty women fell 
 back upon at the least contention with the men 
 who cared for them the cruelty of contemptu- 
 ous lies. They all did it; they were idiotically 
 alike. The confession of how profoundly she had
 
 198 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 cared merely rubbed acid in his wounds. They 
 commenced to feel mortal, like a sore gangrene 
 permeates. Standing there, superb in her youth 
 and freshness, with her beautiful body untouched 
 by the least chill hint of age or illness, she seemed 
 to thrust upon him, as she spoke, his own phys- 
 ical inabilities. His chest felt gradually emptied, 
 a hollow case of bones sinking into his back. 
 The whole of his recent sense of power receded, 
 as if blood drawn out of his constitution, at the 
 naked, complete, untrammelled confession she 
 made she, so secretive, so self-contained, so 
 rarely in the habit of giving out any thought 
 folded about the little heart he had considered 
 so gay, and small, and irreflective. And now 
 she, Ellice, the silent, turned the past condition 
 of her heart inside out for his benefit. To do 
 that truly, she must, as she said, have absolutely 
 washed and emptied it since. She could not have 
 flung this callous, intimate avowal in his face 
 had a spot still quivered with tenderness. A del- 
 icate shyness alone would have kept her silent; 
 nothing but absolute security could give birth to 
 such candor. 
 
 And yet below the gasp of stupefaction eddied 
 a chafed conviction that in part, at least, the 
 girl was lying. Over her tongue she had mas- 
 tery, but her brainless body he had felt shiver 
 within his hold less than a week ago. No man 
 or woman could be cured in a week. 
 
 Still, at the best, her statement was a bewil- 
 dering disaster, and he looked at her as at a 
 person become suddenly unfamiliar and fear-creat-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 199 
 
 ing. Her mouth had never to his knowledge 
 been so red; the lips, like pink rose-leaves al- 
 ways, were now scarlet silk; she was beautiful 
 like a thing on fire; there was not a particle of 
 her figure, for all its immobility, that did net 
 give the impression of being charged with vital- 
 ity. All, that is, but her hair, and that full, 
 thick, loose, shining like the silk of silkworms, 
 dropped with a splendid indolence over the tiny 
 ears on to the white of her neck. As Spenser 
 observed the temporary enhancement of her 
 beauty, she lifted her head, heard Crawford's 
 horse on the drive, and suddenly altered com- 
 pletely. Horror, like a panic, rushed into her 
 face, horror of herself and the oblivion of the 
 last half-hour. Spenser saw it with inexplicable 
 delight. She was touching directly she lost 
 strength, and in her hasty flush of remorse she 
 became to him once more lovably dependent and 
 womanly. Her cry, "Gillette, Gillette!" had a 
 touch of hysteria, but it pierced, nevertheless, to 
 the depths of his being. He knew that she spoke 
 to Gillette, crying intuitively for pardon, putting 
 into that one word all her penitence, and shame, 
 and regret. 
 
 At that moment Crawford's cumbersome step 
 sounded in the hall. He came in noiselessly, for- 
 getting that Gillette could not possibly hear any- 
 thing upstairs. Almost in a whisper he said : 
 
 "The doctor is following; he will be here in 
 five minutes. How is she?" 
 
 He had not finished speaking before the front- 
 door bell sounded. Simultaneously all three ex-
 
 200 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 claimed, as if rescued from unutterable peril by 
 his arrival: 
 
 "The doctor! thank God!" 
 
 Spenser went out to meet him, and took him 
 up as far as the bedroom. When he came back 
 the three sat together in a strained, inactive 
 silence. Now and again Spenser, unable to keep 
 still, walked out into the passage. There was 
 no sound from above, and he would return and 
 resume his dreary waiting with the others. From 
 an A B C they had discovered that neither the 
 nurse nor the London doctor could possibly arrive 
 before five o'clock in the morning. Spenser or- 
 dered the carriage to be at the station at that 
 hour, and then subsided once more into a seat 
 by Ellice. The night was sincerely ghastly to 
 him, and yet threaded with a confused sweet- 
 ness. Here at his side one with him, at least, 
 in sharing anxiety was Ellice. The comfort of 
 her presence now she was no longer flinging des- 
 perate lies at him as a last defence was unutter- 
 ably great and penetrating. Curiously enough, 
 with Crawford in the room, moreover, they 
 seemed closer than they had done in their recent 
 deplorable tete-a-tete. She had hardly spoken, 
 but once she had looked at him intimately and 
 compassionately. Her glance intimated that he 
 did not suffer alone, and that she not only suf- 
 fered with him, but for him, retaining already 
 nothing of what had passed but affection and 
 sympathy. The softness of mood that issued to 
 him, indeed, was almost bewildering after the 
 recent sabre-like strokes her voice had dealt him.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 201 
 
 But the strange odor of death hung about the 
 house, and all the circumstances of life collapsed 
 before a mystery more profound than any one 
 of them. Even Spenser felt passion, anger, desire, 
 slowly filter out of him in the pitiable tension 
 of the hours that followed, when minute by min- 
 ute it seemed more and more as if they fought, 
 they, too, by their revolt, their misery, their 
 silent, exhausting horror, against the grim, im- 
 palpable presence, already sending its icy breath 
 into the house it yearned to enter. 
 
 At eleven Crawford commenced to pull a cigar 
 to pieces, beside himself. 
 
 "Can't somebody go up?" he said piteously. 
 "It's killing to sit here for eternity and know 
 nothing!" 
 
 "You go," urged Ellice to Spenser, hardly above 
 her breath. 
 
 He did as they asked, coming back with a face 
 grown absolutely gray. But he had seen Dr. 
 
 S . He intended staying the night. She was 
 
 in exceeding agony, but no immediate danger. 
 It would be long, but so far affairs promised to 
 assume a less ugly look than they had antici- 
 pated. Mrs. Sinclair, in the absence of the nurse, 
 was proving invaluable, and the doctor could 
 not speak too highly of her tact and presence of 
 mind. 
 
 Then for a hideous, interminable night they 
 sat on, trying to talk fitfully of other things. 
 At four o'clock in the morning Crawford sug- 
 gested going in the carriage to meet Dr. D . 
 
 His disquietude yearned for any change from the
 
 202 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 unsuspended tension of their present inactivity, 
 when every minute passed in wearing expecta- 
 tion. During the drive, at least, there would be 
 the mental rest of non-anticipation. The ears 
 would cease from straining after every sound. 
 Spenser acquiesced without sensation. To be 
 alone with Ellice must be sweet, but he had no 
 longer any desire to make even the feeblest sort 
 of love to her. When the other had started, in 
 fact, they sat for some time without moving or 
 speaking. At last Spenser said : 
 
 "May I sit by you, Ellice?" 
 
 At any time very little was required to give 
 his appearance a look of alarming bloodlessness. 
 Now his skin seemed creased like a thing crumpled 
 in the hand. 
 
 "Yes, dear, if it comforts you." 
 
 He sat then with a hand stolen upon her lap. 
 but neither spoke. The feelings of both were 
 spent. They simply waited, indefinitely aware, 
 below an inordinate lassitude, of an atmosphere 
 charged with terrible uncertainties. Only to Spen- 
 ser there was also a thin, evanescent suavity. 
 In having Ellice as companion in agony, he knew 
 at least the almost voluptuous feeling of a pleas- 
 ure filtered through an acute experience of pain.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 At five o'clock Crawford brought back the 
 
 nurse and Dr. D . But from the arrival of the 
 
 latter the sense of impending tragedy seemed to 
 deepen instead of lessening. Indeed, the moment 
 of actual bereavement could scarcely have yielded 
 a heavier gloom. For some hours yet Mrs. Sin- 
 clair was allowed in and out of the sick-room. 
 But about noon next day she was definitely dis- 
 missed by the doctor, and from then until the end 
 nobody but the two physicians and the nurse 
 remained in the apartment. As for the others, as 
 they had passed the night so they spent the greater 
 part of the day, sitting round the fire in uncer- 
 tainty and anticipation. 
 
 In the early morning, cheered by the arrival 
 of the nurse and doctor, Crawford had gone 
 home for an hour or two, while Ellice and Spen- 
 ser also had separated for an attempt at sleep. 
 But after breakfast Crawford returned, and the 
 rest of the day was dragged through in a nervous 
 inaction that would have strained even a stolid 
 disposition. 
 
 After lunch Mrs. Sinclair flung herself on the 
 sofa and fell asleep, worn out. Crawford 
 placed a rug over her feet, and the other three 
 recommenced the dreary waiting of the night 
 before. About three o'clock the footman brought
 
 204 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 in the weekly illustrated papers. They tried to 
 make them a source of occupation, and passed 
 the Sketch, Black and White, and the Graphic 
 from one to the other. Their arrival did to some 
 extent help to get through the next half-hour, 
 but at the end of that time they were once more 
 unoccupied. There was an increasing sense that 
 at any moment the doctor might come with the 
 merciful news that it was over. His last report 
 had been almost cheerful. After all, he hoped to 
 save both mother and child. But since then noth- 
 ing had been heard. 
 
 Ellice sat leaning back in an armchair with a 
 footstool for her feet, and as the day drew on 
 her face grew white and the skin opaque and 
 dull. Spenser noticed her complexion's complete 
 loss of transparent freshness, and, with a sense 
 of curious satisfaction, found his adoration un- 
 dergo no diminution. Hitherto he had been 
 haunted by a repugnant terror that, in spite of 
 his present boundless affection, it -was not a 
 sentiment capable of standing every possible con- 
 tingency. It had recurred to him repeatedly that 
 so supremely did he worship her singular air of 
 freshness, the healthy look she had of a merry 
 child, that once suffering, depressed, conquered 
 by any of the unbecoming vicissitudes of the 
 rest of humanity, she would become as unat- 
 tractive as any other sickly or plain woman. 
 Instead, gazing into her sunken-looking eyes, he 
 felt that she had never been more dear to him. 
 Truly, it seemed that Ellice was always to be 
 the exception. Everything that remained detest-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 205 
 
 able in others she made lovable and sweet. All 
 the afternoon, in consequence, he enveloped her 
 in a thousand silent attentions. She should feel 
 at least that she was never out of his mind, and 
 that regret for her long-endured suspense had be- 
 come his paramount sensation. 
 
 The presence of Crawford the entire party, him- 
 self included, took as a matter of course. Either 
 from preoccupation or because Gillette's appear- 
 ance precluded light suspicions, none of the other 
 three for an instant regarded it as in any way 
 peculiar. His impulsive warm-heartedness was 
 common talk, and they merely loved him for a 
 generous participation in an anxiety he could 
 have spared himself had he chosen. 
 
 As half-past four passed blankly, Ellice began 
 to find the suspense stifling. After hours of in- 
 ertia, she felt suddenly incapable of sitting quiet 
 another second. She got up and stood by the 
 fireplace, hesitating what to do, while Spenser, 
 looking up at her, became conscious for the first 
 time that she had on a black gown. It suited 
 her perfectly, but gave him a disagreeable im- 
 pression, as of an unconsciously ominous symbol. 
 It was so absolutely rare for her to abandon 
 the gayety of colors. As a rule, she clung almost 
 exclusively to light or rich-toned materials, that 
 met the eye, half smiling, half discreet, but al- 
 ways suave and untroubled. While she stood 
 there the doctor entered. He looked worn out, 
 but his smile had an appearance of triumph. 
 
 "My dear sir, at last I can relieve your long 
 anxiety. It is over, and both have been spared.
 
 206 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 You have a son, and Mrs. Spenser, though ter- 
 ribly exhausted, is doing quite as well as could 
 be expected. We have a hard fight still, for the 
 prostration is greater, unfortunately, than one 
 could wish ; but with care we shall pull through. 
 The child is small, but perfectly sound, and a son. 
 Yes, yes, madam, it is successfully over, and the 
 poor patient will, we hope, soon be restfully 
 asleep. There must be no visit for a while; ab- 
 solute quiet is imperative. Dr. S will remain 
 
 near for an hour or so, but when I have seen 
 him once more I think there will be no further 
 need for me at present. Could you, Mr. Spenser, 
 give me the next train to town? And would 
 you oblige me with a whiskey-and-soda? I con- 
 fess that at the moment nothing would be more 
 welcome." 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair was crying on the sofa, loudly, 
 freely, in an ecstasy rendered hysterical by reac- 
 tion. Ellice stood motionless, while her brain 
 gave the impression of contracting like a pricked 
 balloon. The slow departure of evil anticipa- 
 tion was like air escaping from its distended 
 compass. Now for the first time she realized 
 clearly what they had really expected to hear, 
 and through the incommensurable force of thank- 
 fulness found words annihilated. Crawford mean- 
 while was shaking hands wildly with everybody. 
 Hilarious and expansive, he commenced to talk 
 instantly, brimming over with hearty congrat- 
 ulations. Already he protested to be able to see 
 the little fellow clinging to his mother's skirts, 
 filling the house with jolly noise and childishness.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 207 
 
 He plied the astounded physician with questions, 
 until his chatter ceased abruptly upon being in- 
 formed that Mrs. Spenser was by no means out 
 of danger yet. Then his expression dropped back 
 into its former lugubriousness, and as Ellice 
 turned to go out of the room, he followed her 
 without another word. 
 
 To the more detailed conversation that followed 
 Spenser listened, feeling gripped by nightmare. 
 From the first announcement by the doctor of a 
 living child, he had struggled against a want of 
 air. The room seemed emptied of it. He drew 
 in breath apparently bereft of oxygen, that con- 
 tracted instead of expanding his lungs. Never 
 since the doctor's first visit had he for an instant 
 supposed the child could be born alive now he 
 had a son! He reviled him from the depths of 
 his being. To Spenser this infant seemed like an 
 extension of Gillette herself, a fact to make him, 
 if possible, more married, more fettered, mor re- 
 sponsible than ever. A vision of the little crea- 
 ture, hideous, like a mewling kitten, in the the- 
 atrically exultant arms of its nurse, almost ousted 
 the exhausted mother from his thoughts. But 
 she was not dead, thank God! All through the 
 night dread that she might die had been sharp- 
 ened by a morbid idea that if she did he would 
 be, for some obscure reason, her murderer. Again 
 and again since yesterday he had endeavored to 
 clarify the notion; it persisted absurdly and yet 
 distressingly. For, boundlessly as he desired El- 
 lice, to obtain her by the death of the woman 
 who was the innocent obstacle between them
 
 208 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 would harrow conscience as incurably as if he 
 had stealthily, cunningly, and mercilessly mur- 
 dered her to attain his purpose. 
 
 During the doctor's long conversation distaste 
 to his recent fatherhood increased. And when 
 the physician, rising with visible reluctance out 
 of his comfortable chair, remarked, smiling, that 
 though Mrs. Spenser must not yet be disturbed, 
 there was no similar veto upon a visit to the 
 new son and heir, he wondered for a second if 
 the man was being ridiculous deliberately. Cer- 
 tainly he had dragged the whole circumstance 
 to the level of a bad joke. 
 
 Nevertheless, in the next fortnight he had good 
 reason to forget his passing fancy of underlying 
 humor. Gillette did not rally, as had been glibly 
 expected. On the contrary, day after day she 
 drew nearer to the ugly immobility of death ; her 
 life seemed like a substance shrinking hour by 
 hour. When Spenser, urged by a fantastic spur 
 of conscience, at last requested to see her, he 
 found her, indeed, almost unrecognizable. The 
 large round face had dwindled to half its former 
 size, and her eyes, in their bony sockets, wore a 
 terrible, piercing look. She who had been so red 
 lay more deathly pallid than the linen she pressed. 
 One hand rested upon the rose-silk eiderdown. 
 He had no sooner seen it than Spenser could not 
 remove his gaze. It seemed to him already dead. 
 There was no blood in it, no life. The thought 
 of Ellice's pretty rose- tipped fingers flashed into 
 his mind, while his eyes remained held by a hor- 
 rible fascination upon this unrecognizable, bony
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 209 
 
 thing he could not have touehed without a 
 shiver. 
 
 Where was Ellice? All his being quivered with 
 the imperious desire to be with her immediately. 
 Her presence would act like a sponge, wiping out 
 realities. He left the room, feeling that the unre- 
 lieved pressure of his life would end by killing him. 
 Never in his life had he passed days weighted as 
 they were since a child had been added to the 
 already pitiable encumbrance of his marriage. 
 
 He found Mrs. Sinclair and Ellice sitting to- 
 gether in the music-room. Ellice was at the piano 
 playing quietly, with the soft pedal down. Mrs. 
 Sinclair worked at a piece of fancy work by the 
 fire. Since Gillette's illness she had abandoned 
 all attempts at youth and fascination. She 
 seemed no longer to have the energy to dress, 
 or dwell on personal matters. From breakfast 
 until dinner she was incessantly on the point of 
 dressing, but it merely ended in her going to Gil- 
 lette, and from her to the nursery, and finally 
 returning downstairs to report on both, not in- 
 frequently with the tears streaming down her 
 face. 
 
 The moment Spenser entered the room, both 
 women looked up at him, with eyes impatient 
 for his impressions. Their unuttered request an- 
 noyed him exceedingly, flinging him back as it 
 did into the horrors of the sick-room he was im- 
 patient to be rid of. 
 
 He stood with his back to the fire, looking 
 angrily at his mother-in-law. Ellice rose from 
 the piano and came toward him, looking up as 
 14
 
 210 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 one waiting to hear. She had changed her dress, 
 he saw, while he had been upstairs. Now she 
 wore a purple crepe de chine, tight over the 
 beautiful hips, loose from the knees to the hidden 
 feet. The sleeves were full, and fluttered when she 
 moved. As she stood beside him she rested a 
 hand carelessly upon the mantelpiece. Instantly 
 Spenser's heart thundered in his chest; the con- 
 trast was so striking between the whiteness of 
 this and the whiteness of that other he had just 
 seen upstairs. Yet Ellice's, too. was veined, del- 
 icate, spiritual. But the veining was not livid, 
 the pallor had nothing unhealthy ; with the rosy 
 nails gleaming at the tips, it looked like a fallen 
 apple-blossom. As he watched it tying against 
 the mantel-border, he longed to pass his lips 
 right along the snowy lines of the fingers, till 
 he came to the roses at the tip. 
 
 He thought, also, he had never seen a gown 
 suit her better. The rich color threw up the 
 transparencies of her complexion and the shim- 
 mering lightness of the hair drooping upon the 
 nape of her neck. She looked in it a living violet, 
 fragrant, distinguished, and in imagination he 
 felt the perfume of her flower waver past his 
 nostrils. The ends of a loose and pale crepe de 
 chine of blue fell from her breast to her feet, 
 where it ended in a heavy fringe of silk. For 
 the first time, moreover, since the dreadful night 
 of watching she looked her natural self. The 
 heavy, worn appearance of recent days was like 
 snow that has yielded to a burst of sunshine. 
 Had Mrs. Sinclair left the room then, unable to
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 211 
 
 control his passionate admiration, loneliness, 
 and fierce delight at this return of the old Ellice, 
 Spenser would have seized and kissed her without 
 an instant's reflection. 
 
 But, instead, it was unavoidable to relive for 
 them the ugly interview he had come downstairs 
 frantic with desire to shake off and forget. He 
 spoke curtly, therefore, of his terrible surprise 
 at the change in Gillette, and of the inconceiv- 
 able waste that had taken place in her physique. 
 Unconsciously his manner conveyed the impres- 
 sion of a man too alarmed and horrified for 
 words. Mrs. Sinclair commenced to cry, Ellice 
 drew a forlorn sigh. 
 
 "I must go to her, I must go and be near her, 
 at least," muttered Mrs. Sinclair between her 
 tears. She went hastily out of the room, trying 
 ineffectually to control her grief. The agony, 
 protracted day after day without sensible change 
 or diminution, was affecting the health of the 
 whole party. At a word, suffering stumbled out 
 of bounds, to grow uncontrollable in its excess. 
 
 No sooner had the door closed behind her than 
 Spenser seized the hand lying upon the mantel- 
 piece, and pressed it against his lips almost with 
 frenzy. Then, drawing the girl suddenly into his 
 arms, he kissed her with the same vehemence as 
 he had done on the day of her arrival. Any mo- 
 ment some one might have entered the room ; he 
 had ceased even to be conscious of danger. When 
 he released her he had no desire but to lie still 
 with her in his arms, so immense was the fatigue 
 beginning at last to overpower him. It was El-
 
 212 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 lice who spoke, smoothing with unquiet, trembling 
 hands the hair disordered about her neek and 
 face. 
 
 "George, George, let us understand one another. 
 This cannot go on. The wickedness done to Gil- 
 lette makes me feel unfit to live. Perhaps if we 
 faced things together it might ease us and make 
 a repetition of what has just occurred no longer 
 a danger. There is so much like a weight hid- 
 den in us here " She made a movement, and 
 
 laid one hand upon her breast. "I think it stifles 
 us, and makes restraint sometimes unbearable. 
 Sit down and let us talk; I suffer so much." 
 
 "Yes, by all means let us be frank," said the 
 other, but without moving away from the fire- 
 place. 
 
 Her beauty this afternoon intoxicated him. 
 For days she had worn only an old morning- 
 gown, in which she had somehow a look of hav- 
 ing dressed hastily and without care. This sud- 
 den reassumption of deliberate charm affected 
 him doubly by contrast. 
 
 "May I be the first to speak?" inquired the 
 girl, with eyes like brown violet under the long 
 lashes. 
 
 "Don't deny that you love me, then. For 
 mercy's sake don't repeat that silly farce; it 
 would not deceive me for a second." 
 
 His outburst was unexpected. Ellice's lids 
 closed for a second under its violence. She opened 
 them wearily, and, pulling up one heavy end of 
 the pale-colored crepe, drew the fringe absently 
 across one hand.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 213 
 
 "Yes, it is true I love you," she said finally, 
 and the manner in which she said it -was to him 
 like a lingering kiss. "This is what it is best 
 we should face: that I love you you love me." 
 
 She stopped, and her breast heaved. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Spenser, as if cooing to pacify 
 a frightened child. 
 
 He tried then to draw her head against his 
 shoulder, but she drew away from him, though 
 her eyes in their unaccustomed softness were like 
 a touch soft and enticing upon his face. 
 
 "And in each other's presence," she went on 
 almost in a whisper, "it is difficult not to reveal 
 everything. You ache to hold me in your arms, 
 to be alone with me, to say what is in you; I, 
 too, choke with the fear of betraying myself. 
 When we are alone it is only worse. Then every 
 nerve in our bodies suffers, crying out that we 
 are lovers, and that our love is the only fact in 
 the world to us. In the end it overflows all our 
 efforts, makes us mad ; then what has just oc- 
 curred becomes unavoidable." 
 
 She stopped again, panting for breath. Her 
 face was pale with the same excited, intense look 
 Spenser had seen before. But he could contain 
 himself no longer; he put his arms round her 
 shoulders and listened, feeling intoxicated, to the 
 wild beating of her heart. 
 
 "Yes, child, it is unavoidable. You have be- 
 come part of me; I exist only because of and 
 for you. And, sweet, there is only one solution 
 after all, the bravest we must go away together. 
 We must, and shall"
 
 214 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 "George, do you want me to hate you?" 
 
 Her expression was distraught, and her breath 
 against his face came like steam. He looked at 
 her and laughed, not loud, but with a ring of 
 triumph, revolting in its certainty. 
 
 "You would never hate me. Since we are to 
 face facts, Ellice, learn this: you can no more 
 shake yourself free of me than you discard your 
 skin. And now having, as you wished, emptied 
 our bosoms of hypocrisy, the imperative neces- 
 sity follows to decide what to do." 
 
 Each word that passed his lips cut her like a 
 knife. He experienced, in fact, an involuntary 
 need to be brutal with her. The entire futility 
 of her so-called frankness, intended only to con- 
 clude, he foresaw clearly enough, in an appeal 
 to remember duty and a request to bring the 
 episode to a close with heroics, parting, and a 
 life of sacrifice, made him feel cruel with anger. 
 Anything more feeble and useless it was difficult 
 to imagine. 
 
 "Now, Ellice, don't break out into foolish in- 
 terjection. It is your turn to listen to me." 
 
 He still spoke with his face close to hers, and 
 with his eyes grown, it seemed to the girl, into 
 an indefinite red haze fixed upon her own. As 
 he gazed, she felt the room recede from her vision, 
 the walls draw back to an immense distance. 
 The red gleam of Spenser's eyes seemed to stupefy 
 her brain, gradually to make her aware only of 
 him and the words he uttered. The tortured 
 effort to keep a hold, as it were, upon Gillette 
 grew minute by minute more desperate and un-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 215 
 
 availing. She could feel her slipping into unsub- 
 stantiality, eluding her exhausted labor to remem- 
 ber that it was Gillette only who must be con- 
 sidered. Spenser's words, "You would never 
 hate me," buzzed in her brain. They were true, 
 and she knew it. The intense outstretching of 
 her nature to his would take years to cool. 
 He was her idol, in his hands her strength melted 
 to wax; and now he knew it. 
 
 An icy foreboding tore into her, and she shiv- 
 ered involuntarily. But she made one more su- 
 preme effort at concealment. Drawing out of 
 the crimson haze of the eyes that mesmerized her, 
 she took up the fringed crepe once more, and 
 swung it slowly backward and forward in her 
 hand. It gave her a look of detachment. One 
 might suppose the blue fringe half shared the at- 
 tention of her mind. A growing nausea was ris- 
 ing in her, a despairing nausea at the unnecessary 
 agony of her life. An inevitable calamity would 
 have been less bitter. This, padlocked upon her 
 life, was gratuitous, done as if by the hate of 
 destiny. And in her soul there seemed to fall in- 
 visible tears at the misery that must lie and 
 gnaw within her for the best part of a lifetime. 
 
 Spenser watched her, while the firelight flung 
 over her dress checkered patches of flaming pur- 
 ple. Suddenly he passed his hands over her hips. 
 She dropped the heavy blue stuff out of her hands, 
 crying under her breath: 
 
 "Let me go upstairs; I cannot bear it." 
 
 Spenser put out his arm to stop her. As he 
 did so the front door bell sounded sharply.
 
 216 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 "The doctor," muttered Spenser, adding silently 
 the words, "Curse him!" 
 
 The former, however, went straight to his pa- 
 tient. Then Spenser, feeling that time was short, 
 began to speak again, rapidly, but no longer 
 with bitterness. There was no longer space 
 enough to pour forth rancor. He could afford 
 that only when certain of being able to heal th? 
 wounds again afterward. 
 
 "Ellice, my little one, my life, listen to me! I 
 have made the most ghastly mistake any man 
 could possibly make. I loved you, and never 
 grasped how much until too late. But it is in- 
 sensate to sit and eat one's life out with puerile 
 regrets for the past. We have only a little time ; 
 existence is for a moment, and for once only. 
 Moreover, I am over forty, and cannot expect, 
 at the best, to last into extreme old age. To you, 
 as to me, the only happiness lies in being together. 
 I know you well enough to know that love is 
 more to you than public opinion. Oh, my dear, 
 if there were any other way, I would lop off a 
 limb to spare you this one. But, Ellice, you 
 must make a sacrifice for my sake. Most women 
 could not love unselfishly enough to make any. 
 You can and will, and I shall worship you the 
 more because of your beautiful courage. Are you 
 following me, Ellice? Look up and let me see 
 what has crept into your eyes. You will go away 
 with me, live with me abroad. Do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 "Gillette!" 
 
 Ellice oscillated as if the ground rocked under
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 217 
 
 her. Spenser, half afraid, put her into the arm- 
 chair. But his chest expanded. She was a be- 
 leaguered city, whose defences are all beaten 
 down, and who cries out in final wild despair 
 before surrender. Oh, this woman ! how precious 
 she was to him how dear! 
 
 "Ellice, beloved, be sensible and shake yourself 
 free of mere conventional opinion. Gillette hasher 
 religion, her good works, her child. Surely that 
 is enough to fill one life. I have been a brute to 
 her from the beginning ; she cannot love me. On 
 the other hand, I have nothing but you nothing. 
 Are we to throw away our lives for a chimera? 
 If you think clearly, you must see for yourself 
 that no one would be less hurt by my departure 
 than Gillette. I thwart her in everything ; I harass 
 her all day long; I hamper her preposterous 
 philanthropy, and I make her incessantly aware 
 that we have nothing in common. But you, be- 
 lieve me, dear, I could be good to. From the 
 beginning you have had a power over my char- 
 acter that has often astounded me. Ellice, you 
 will kill me if you oppose me long." 
 
 Certainly he was ashen-colored. She looked up 
 at him with her oval face childish in its helpless- 
 ness. Then her hands went out in a mute sup- 
 plication. He seized them, feeling the action an 
 unconscious confession of her inability to resist 
 him. 
 
 "George, if you love me, you will never give a 
 sign of the fact as long as you live. Let me go 
 I hear some one coming." 
 
 He had only just time to step away from her,
 
 218 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 before the doctor and Mrs. Sinclair entered the 
 room. As they came in, Ellice passed slowly into 
 the library. She dared not trust her eyes even 
 to the gaze of a stranger. God only knew what 
 blazed forth from them.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A few days later Gillette happily commenced to 
 rally. In another fortnight she was out of dan- 
 ger, and after that made a very gradual progress 
 toward convalescence. It was, however, a heart- 
 breaking sight for all concerned when first she 
 sat up in bed. To Ellice she appeared almost 
 unrecognizable. This woman, lying as a lily 
 whose stem has been broken, had a face like a 
 skeleton's. The eyes, that looked out of it, dull, 
 fixed in expression, tragically supplicating in 
 their long immovable gaze, were barely human. 
 They were not Gillette's eyes, so large and soft. 
 They belonged to a person so near the grave that 
 some of its incomprehensible influences had al- 
 ready commenced their work. Ellice felt herself 
 grow momentarily faint at the first visit she 
 made. The bony, bloodless figure smiling at her 
 so wistfully above the pink silk counterpane over- 
 mastered her with pity. The impression of con- 
 tamination and vileness that poisoned her 
 thoughts since the last tete-a-tete encounter with 
 Spenser rose like phlegm in her throat. She hid 
 her head on the counterpane and kissed the slen- 
 der fingers held out to her, without being able 
 to speak. 
 
 Gillette, however, overflowed with happiness; 
 they had allowed her that morning to hold her
 
 220 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 baby for a few minutes in her arms. In his sleep 
 he had placed one tiny clenched hand against her 
 breast, and her joy had been boundless beyond 
 expression. She inquired of Ellice minutely after 
 every member of the household, begging her re- 
 peatedly not to be anxious, not to let the others 
 be anxious. She would soon be well now; the 
 nurse could verify her statement in being abso- 
 lutely docile and obedient. Weak as she was, the 
 old atmosphere of love and selflessness issued in 
 every word she uttered. 
 
 Ellice left the room conscious of being mentally 
 torn in fragments. She must go away; at all 
 costs an ocean's impediment must be placed be- 
 tween herself and Spenser. His presence sucked 
 the will out of her. For his happiness she would, 
 without hesitation, sell her soul, her reputation. 
 Anything, indeed, she was willing to do for him, 
 except this, the sacrifice of Gillette. And the 
 sight of Spenser day by day growing more hag- 
 gard, more gray, clogged her power of under- 
 standing. To look at him drove her almost to 
 an insanity of grief. Him, neither, could she sac- 
 rifice; truly his life and hers were one. If he died 
 her existence must cease simultaneously. For a 
 week his cough had been incessant, and so great 
 was the sympathy between them her own chest 
 burnt the whole time also, as if likewise raw and 
 painful. 
 
 Huddled in front of her bedroom fire after leav- 
 ing Gillette, she moaned to herself for several 
 hours. She must go away; but Spenser was in 
 a state of ill-health when the least added excite-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 221 
 
 ment would bring about an attack of hemor- 
 rhage. Staring piteously at the firelight, she 
 felt at last beaten by an overwhelming superior- 
 ity of forces. God help her ! was the epitome of 
 her thoughts; she could no longer help herself. 
 In the ghastly confusion of her life there ap- 
 peared no genuine pathway. Turn which way 
 she would, a trail of suffering must lie behind 
 her steps, hideous as the stain of blood leading 
 to some murdered victim. 
 
 Gillette and Spenser rose one on each side to 
 draw her adverse ways. Torn, bruised, piecemeal 
 with grief, one would finally get definite hold of 
 her. Whichever it was, the other remained deso- 
 late, destitute, treacherously abandoned by friend 
 or mistress. Nevertheless, she did not leave the 
 house. It would have worn an air of too much 
 inexplicability. For Gillette asked for her inces- 
 santly, and, from a few minutes, she came grad- 
 ually to spending most of the day in the other's 
 bedroom. In the end, therefore, she had no alter- 
 native but to rely upon her own strength. It 
 seemed comparatively easy, besides, when the 
 greater part of her time was spent at Gillette's 
 side. The old hankering after noble action recom- 
 menced to agitate in her as she sat and listened 
 to the other's low conversation, and saw the 
 waste and helplessness brought about in her. 
 
 "Will she never be herself again?" she repeat- 
 edly asked the nurse, feeling in a similar way to 
 Spenser that this poor, disabled, white creature 
 quadrupled the treachery of their behavior. 
 
 The nurse's answer did not lighten heaviness.
 
 222 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 She believed that Mrs. Spenser would undoubt- 
 edly get stronger, but that she would ever be the 
 same woman as before was out of the question. 
 Too many delicacies had been left behind, and 
 the strain upon the extremely weak heart had 
 been too great. She hoped, however, that in a 
 few months the patient would be able to get 
 about again, only for the future it must be a life 
 chiefly inactive. 
 
 The baby, also, continued small and frail, and 
 for two months after its birth the house retained 
 an air of disorganization and unrest. Gillette's 
 sick-room became its centrepiece. After a little 
 while they took it in turns to have dinner with 
 her, to break the dull monotony of meals served 
 up incessantly on trays. To Spenser the even- 
 ings of his dining with her were a prospect he 
 dreaded from the day's commencement. The at- 
 mosphere of the room alone, the indefinable odor 
 of medicines or illness he did not know which 
 repelled him. And Gillette's languid recovery 
 rasped him unutterably. So long as she con- 
 tinued like this a sight to make one shudder in 
 its pitiable suggestion of death and disease El- 
 lice's resistance was daily reinforced to an extent 
 rendering it practically impregnable. 
 
 Moreover, the vision of his wife, haggard and 
 shrunken, revolted him to such an extent he took 
 to dosing himself copiously with bromide in order 
 to contain himself in her presence. She was sick- 
 ness epitomized, and while he stayed with her 
 he felt the death he abhorred always at his side, 
 mocking, with a finger pointed at Gillette, as an
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 223 
 
 example of what he, Spenser, might expect at 
 any moment. Her very voice made him shiver. 
 There was none of the rich fulness of life in it. 
 His blood froze at the ominous emptiness of its 
 tone. And it was only when Ellice came in at the 
 end of the meal, for a few minutes' good-night 
 talk, that he felt drawn back once more out of 
 the power of his relentless enemy. He hugged then 
 the clear, sumptuous notes of her voice metaphor- 
 ically to his soul, wrapping the warmth of it 
 round his brain in a frenzy of gratitude. 
 
 Nevertheless, this arrangement of meals gave 
 every third evening a tete-a-tete dinner with 
 Ellice. Throughout the day they lived in antici- 
 patory commotion. Spenser's "Good-morning" 
 at the breakfast-table flooded the other's heart 
 with tremors. "We dine together to-night," his 
 manner added, for her comprehension only. And 
 throughout the day she felt him, somehow, to 
 be different. There was a vibration in his voice, 
 an access of vigor in his carriage, as if, in spite 
 of his cold, he had suddenly become better in 
 health. 
 
 Both retired early to dress, the girl making in- 
 stinctively upon these nights a difference in her 
 toilette. For these dinners she wore a black net 
 dress, made in the early Victorian fashion off the 
 shoulders. The pretty curve of the latter emerged 
 superb from the fluttering black, while the semi- 
 suggestion of overexposure given by the style 
 had, in the success of the revelation made, a fas- 
 cination that was stupendous. To Spenser she 
 yielded in it the impression of having in a slight
 
 224 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 degree bared herself for his eyes only; as if a 
 woman exquisitely modest should for her lover 
 discard some part of it, to reveal in a pride ab- 
 solutely selfless the beauty gloried in only for 
 the pleasure given to this one person. The fancy 
 was strengthened by the fact that invariably, 
 upon going up to Gillette afterward, Ellice flung 
 over her shoulders a fine black lace scarf, as if 
 refusing this soft white to all but him. 
 
 When they met in the drawing-room, to wait 
 for the announcement of dinner, the excitement 
 of both -was suffocating. Frequently their voices 
 were broken and harsh until they moistened their 
 throats with -wine. And yet until dessert they 
 were never alone for a minute; butler or foot- 
 man remained punctiliously in the room. Spen- 
 ser had dwelt at first upon the possibility of 
 contriving on these evenings without constant 
 attendance; but it would have presented too 
 extraordinary an appearance, and he dared not. 
 And, as it was, to sit opposite to Ellice, with- 
 out the jarring accompaniment of Mrs. Sinclair, 
 had an intoxicating quality. Her lovely smiling 
 head was all he saw, while her voice held him, 
 quieting his nerves like a lullaby, steeping him 
 in peace and well-being. He liked to see her eat, 
 to watch her raise her glass to her lips, catch 
 the passing gleam of little enticing teeth. Sitting 
 there opposite to him, quietly gay, or serious in 
 her habitual temperate fashion, she appeared to 
 him all his own at last. She might actually be 
 his wife. 
 
 During these days they reassumed the nearest
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 225 
 
 approach to their old manner toward one an- 
 other that they had done since Spenser's marriage. 
 The table was between them ; the protecting male 
 servant hovered about the sideboard. Ellice, se- 
 cure in Spenser's obligatory good conduct, yielded 
 to the sweetness of the moment. It would have 
 sent the blood out of her face had she known 
 how openly these meals were condemned by the 
 world downstairs. For to neither was there the 
 least realization of the immense unconscious be- 
 trayal of their manner, of the glaring contrast 
 between the gloom pervading all other meals since 
 Gillette's illness and the sparkling gayety of these. 
 It was the quarter of an hour's tete-a-tete for 
 dessert, however, which made these meals both 
 so dangerous and so dear. The servants had no 
 sooner left the room than a force greater than 
 his own seemed to draw Spenser from his seat. 
 With a decanter in his hand, for fear the servant 
 might return unheard by them, he came to kiss 
 the white neck that maddened him, the eyelids 
 that drooped as he approached. Every time there 
 was the same appeal from the girl, the same al- 
 most mechanical resistance, the same final sub- 
 mission. 
 
 "It helps me through the days. I live on it," 
 the other would murmur in her ear. 
 
 At the end of a quarter of an hour Ellice would 
 rise hastily from her seat. Then Spenser would 
 once more kiss the soft, warm shoulders where 
 the dress commenced, and himself draw the lace 
 over them. They went upstairs together, and 
 brooded over the meal far into the night. 
 15
 
 226 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Except for these dinners, they were rarely alone 
 together. Ellice passed most of the day in Gil- 
 lette's room, while Crawford's constant presence 
 in the house additionally helped to frustrate fre- 
 quent tete-a-tetes. A sense of excitement alive 
 in the air, however, restrained Spenser from an- 
 other attempt at forcing matters. The entire 
 condition of the house was clearly transitory. 
 And in the meantime she was at least under the 
 same roof with him. Every third night they 
 dined together, and for a few minutes could fling 
 off the leaden weight of duplicity and repression. 
 There were unsought, unexpected moments at 
 other times when chance would be kind to them. 
 One evening Mrs. Sinclair, reading, while he and El- 
 lice played bezique in the library, moved into the 
 music-room, opening out of the former, in order 
 to lie on the more comfortable sofa in the latter 
 apartment. Instantly Spenser reached across the 
 narrow table dividing himself and Ellice, and 
 drew her face to his, by enclosing it in his hands. 
 Without a sound he pressed her lips against his 
 own. Then, as she withdrew her head, he wrote 
 in pencil on a part of an old envelope : 
 
 "It is healing. Your lips cure me physically as 
 well as mentally." 
 
 Ellice read it, flung it into the fire, and they 
 continued their game, while Mrs. Sinclair inter- 
 rupted her reading every few minutes to call out 
 some remark to them. Spenser meant what he 
 wrote, but he also knew that this plea of ill- 
 health was the most powerful incentive he could 
 use to move Ellice. It both troubled her and be-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 227 
 
 wildered her theory of duty. Occasionally, when 
 taken with a fit of coughing, he saw a look of 
 perturbed vacillation enter her eyes. Again and 
 again, therefore, he reiterated, when for a brief 
 second they were out of earshot : 
 
 "You can give me death or life. I could get 
 rid of this infernal cold in a week if there was a 
 hope left to live for." 
 
 Her eyes would fasten on his then with a look 
 of alarmed inquiry. She did not know how much 
 to believe, and the uncertainty increased the in- 
 decision of her thoughts. At last one day, when 
 he said the same thing to her, as they were on 
 their way upstairs to Gillette, as if unable longer 
 to bear the cadaverous vision thrust perpetually 
 upon her brain, she turned toward him abruptly. 
 
 "How unutterably cruel you are ! Don't you see 
 you make me a murderess either way? You will 
 not spare me. You will have nothing else." 
 
 The emotion in her voice was very great. It 
 vibrated as if quivering under a violent repres- 
 sion of will, as if, had she let loose all that hud- 
 dled within, there would have poured out such 
 a flood of writhing, anguished sentences he must 
 have staggered back under their onslaught. 
 
 They went on in silence, but as they passed 
 along the corridor to his wife's bedroom Spenser 
 glanced keenly at his companion. She was look- 
 ing down, and her eyelashes against her cheek 
 had a lustrous look, as if she had put some fine 
 oil upon them. Her mouth, however, was like 
 scarlet silk, and this it never became except in 
 moments of extreme and usually painful excite-
 
 228 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 ment. At the sight Spenser experienced a feeling 
 of compunction. In the face of his feverish pro- 
 testations of wishing to devote his whole life to 
 her, he was hour by hour consciously causing her 
 to suffer. This feint of succumbing to his weak- 
 ness through sheer lack of will to live was a mean 
 and cowardly move. He would have none of it 
 for the future. She should be conquered without 
 that. 
 
 They found Gillette markedly better. Slightly 
 flushed with the recent effort of being dressed, 
 she was sitting up in an armchair. Two white 
 pillows supported her head, and she had on a 
 white cashmere wrapper with accordion folds. 
 Some hot-house lilac Crawford had sent stood 
 on the table at her side, and in a touching mala- 
 dive fashion there was something quite attractive 
 in her appearance. For the coarse color, the fat- 
 ness of cheek and jaw, were gone. What remained 
 was the beautiful, quiet brow, the large, benevo- 
 lent eyes, the simplicity and spirituality of the 
 expression. Ellice, coming in from the recent 
 tumultuous encounter on the stairs, to find her 
 all whiteness and calm, could have knelt at her 
 feet and poured the -whole turmoil out of her 
 soul with a cry for absolution and help. 
 
 "Why, Gillette, how pretty you look! Do you 
 know, you grow more good to look at every day." 
 she said, kneeling at the other's feet, and looking 
 up with a smile Gillette perceived, with surprise, 
 to be full of sadness. 
 
 Presently Spenser left them. The baby had been 
 put to sleep in the other room, and Gillette, never
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 229 
 
 quite at peace when she could not turn her eyes 
 at least now and again to the flowing white cur- 
 tains, within which lay the little life so dear to 
 her, badly needed Ellice's company: for already 
 this child had grown so precious she stumbled to 
 find words in which to thank God for the treasure 
 entrusted to her. Responsibility was as yet only a 
 passionate sweetness. The small body the soul 
 slumbered in asked at present merely love, and 
 love she had more almost than she could hold. 
 Even in her sleep the nurse frequently overheard 
 her muttering the words, "My baby, my baby!" 
 as if in ecstasy. 
 
 He never stirred but her ears heard it. "Nurse, 
 baby wakes, I think," she would whisper in- 
 stantly, her heart fluttering to have him im her 
 arms. And her greatest of the day's joys was 
 to see him got ready by the fire for his evening 
 putting to bed. Full of fears, if the nurse but 
 took her hands off to reach powder or his little 
 articles of clothing, out stretched her arms intui- 
 tively. The wonderful mystery of this infinitely 
 small being, that was hers of right to cherish 
 and guard, filled her with incomparable consola- 
 tion. In her prayers gratitude for the tender 
 dealings of God now took on an additional in- 
 tensity. They would not permit her to kneel, 
 but in her long silent communions with the Di- 
 vine Being, tears fell often like thin streams be- 
 tween the fingers covering her face. 
 
 "Mrs. Spenser dear Mrs. Spenser! are you 
 overtired and depressed? I cannot have my pa- 
 tient crying," the nurse said to her once. It was
 
 230 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 seldom she nursed a patient who aroused so sin- 
 cere an affection, and, seeing many things that 
 inclined her to believe Mrs. Spenser's married 
 life was not as happy as it should be, she sup- 
 posed these tears to flow from bitter thoughts. 
 To her surprise, Gillette looked up with a smile 
 of unmistakable peacefulness. 
 
 "I did not know I was crying," she replied, 
 with a slight confusion of manner. "But I am so 
 unworthy of all the blessings God has given me : 
 the tears may have come from that." 
 
 For a little while after Spenser had left them 
 that afternoon Ellice read aloud to her. Since 
 Crawford's readings Gillette had ceased indis- 
 criminately to reject modern fiction. She enjoyed 
 being read to now immensely, Ellice being in- 
 variably careful to avoid all books with fla- 
 grantly wicked theories or characters. 
 
 When it grew too dark to read, Ellice sat on, 
 silently looking at the fire. Suddenly she broke 
 the reflective quietude that had fallen upon them. 
 Without preface of any sort, she said abruptly : 
 
 "Gillette, your love of God is like another wom- 
 an's mine, for instance love of a human being. 
 You worship your God because you are a woman, 
 and there is in your nature an absolute need to 
 worship somebody. It is ingrained in you, just 
 as in the average woman it is an ingrained ne- 
 cessity to idolize a husband or a lover. Your 
 religion is only the natural craving to adore 
 somebody, plus a spiritually imaginative temper- 
 ament. I adore a wan, because I am not spir- 
 itual, and therefore require a palpable living being
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 231 
 
 I can see and touch. But au fond our affections 
 are the same. Only yours is an absent lover you 
 live waiting one day to be united with, whom 
 you communicate with now only from a distance, 
 and with the humble, unworthy sense allowed 
 to become rampant. Mine, on the other hand, is 
 here, visible, indomitable, more potent and dan- 
 gerous than any absentee could be. You make 
 any sacrifices for your God, and it is accounted 
 to you as righteousness, though you also acquire 
 through them the joy of one day living in the 
 ecstasy of His presence. If I make a sacrifice for 
 my human lover, though my heart tore open in 
 the doing of it, I should be branded as beyond 
 redemption. Yet you I know it would sacrifice 
 your husband and your child to the pleasure of 
 your God. But I must sacrifice nobody, though 
 my lover's life were short and his very existence 
 waste for need of me. Oh, the stupidity of it 
 all, the perversity, the preposterous dulness of 
 the judgment!" 
 
 For a minute, as she listened, Gillette wondered 
 whether Ellice had suddenly gone mad. Too 
 weak still to support the least excitement, her 
 heart commenced to beat painfully, while a swim- 
 ming sensation confused her brain. Trembling 
 violently, she answered : 
 "Ellice dear, why are you angry with me?" 
 As she spoke her mind cleared a little, and took 
 knowledge that the inexplicable and almost vio- 
 lent attack upon her religion had been a wail at 
 some sacrifice prohibited to Ellice some sacrifice 
 she panted to make for the sake of one beloved.
 
 232 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 But weakness of body intervened to prohibit her 
 understanding what sacrifices could be reprehen- 
 sible. The brain still oscillated in a state of faint- 
 ness at the least effort to work it. But she could 
 feel that an extreme unhappiness uttered itself 
 in Ellice's outburst. She added quickly, there- 
 fore, in a voice indistinct with agitation: 
 
 "Dear, if I could only help you! Could I, El- 
 lice?" 
 
 But the other was like a drunken person suddenly 
 sobered by a shock. The sight of Gillette's cheeks 
 stained by two crimson spots and the sound of 
 her laboriously pumped breath filled her with ter- 
 ror. Already the imperative impulse that had 
 flung thought into utterance had become incom- 
 prehensible. Gillette's appearance dismayed her 
 beyond description. What if she had made her 
 worse, had brought about, by a base, brutal 
 defamation, another relapse in the being she 
 adored? 
 
 Springing to her feet, she drew Gillette gently 
 back against the pillows, and, with her cheek 
 pressed to the other's, poured pell-mell a flood 
 of tender phrases into her ear. A dozen times 
 she repeated that she had spoken under the im- 
 pulsion of a temporary insanity, and implored 
 Gillette to let the lamentable words fall out of 
 her mind as meaningless. 
 
 She would have bitten out her tongue to unsay 
 the previous utterance. The indiscretion of it 
 alone filled her with terror. In a moment of wild- 
 ness she had practically revealed the whole situ- 
 ation. Any woman but Gillette, with the clue
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 233 
 
 thrust into her hands, would in a day or two at 
 most discover everything. She, too, broke into 
 an icy perspiration, and drops of ice seemed drip- 
 ping into her heart. Gillette meanwhile lay back 
 with closed lids. Ellice, trembling with fear, held 
 the medicine she had for these heart attacks to 
 her lips. She swallowed it, and again lay with- 
 out stirring. To Ellice, holding on to one chill 
 hand, the silence concentrated in a physical agony 
 at the back of her neck. A hammer seemed to 
 fall in even blows upon the nerves. Besides the 
 immense terror for Gillette's state of health, in 
 the appalling silence she felt as if the truth could 
 not but pass out of her into the intelligence of 
 the other ; the stillness was so unnatural, so inimi- 
 cal. 
 
 At last Gillette moved her head feebly. The 
 relief was overpowering to Ellice, as if both had 
 been snatched back from the jaws of death. 
 
 "Dearest," emanated from the tired, empty 
 voice, "I understand only that you love and 
 you are not happy. The rest I have forgotten 
 already." 
 
 She ceased, exhausted, and Ellice's remorse 
 grew sombre once more. Speechless, she put her 
 arms about Gillette's neck. No words could con- 
 vey the depth of shame, regret, and anxiety she 
 felt. There was another painful silence. The win- 
 dow curtains were not drawn yet, and through 
 the darkening room the light outside had to El- 
 lice's strained nerves a deathly gray ness. Had 
 Gillette died while she waited, she would hardly 
 have known surprise, so piercingly alarmed was
 
 234 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 her mind at this second attack of faintness. Grad- 
 ually, however, it receded. Gillette once more 
 wearily lifted the fallen lids. Then, suddenly, in 
 the semi-darkness Ellice heard a sentence that 
 plunged into her consciousness like an enemy's 
 sword-blade through the flesh. All the blood was 
 apparently drawn out of her in its wake. Yet 
 the words were but just audible. 
 
 "Do you love a married man, Ellice?" 
 
 Twice the girl struggled to answer with a lie, 
 and exclaim, "No, no!" as if horror-stricken at 
 the thought. With Gillette this simple denial 
 would forever preclude suspicion. But she could 
 not to Gillette. A blind impulse impeded her. 
 Against desire, some inner quality revolted against 
 this lie to one whose soul knew only truth and 
 beauty. The yearning for self-protection was 
 overpowered by it. She could not, she could not, 
 though intelligence shrieked in her, till she could 
 hear nothing but its uproar, that this denial was 
 her one supreme means of salvation. 
 
 "Yes," dropped coldly from her quivering lips 
 at last. A second after, in a final despairing 
 effort, she was on her knees by the other's chair. 
 
 "Gillette, for my sake forget this. It is a heart- 
 ache of the past that still flares up fitfully, that 
 is all. It is quite over ; you have no need to fear 
 for me, to worry for me. And now let me light 
 the lamp, and we will shake off all remembrance 
 of my foolish nonsense." 
 
 Gillette let her do as she wished. She placed 
 the lighted lamp on the table at the foot of the 
 bed. Then she poked up the fire and put some
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 235 
 
 fresh coals upon it. At intervals she glanced to 
 see if Gillette was losing the unnatural look of 
 the last half-hour. The latter smiled at her, but 
 her face had the old appearance of skin drawn 
 fleshless over the bones that it seemed to have 
 lost during the last few days. Obviously, the 
 recent scene had done her harm. Sick with re- 
 morse, Ellice turned away and drew the chintz 
 curtains across the windows. 
 
 When it was done she returned to a chair by 
 Gillette's side, stroking the thin hand that hung 
 out of the loose white sleeves over the arm of 
 her seat. While she did so she prayed for the 
 nurse's return. If Gillette were really worse, she 
 would at least know what to do. But they sat 
 for another half-hour undisturbed, and gradually 
 Gillette appeared to regain strength. At the end 
 of it her manner was completely calm again. She 
 broke the quietude, indeed, by saying coaxingly, 
 as if trying to entice Ellice into some forbidden 
 confederacy : 
 
 "I think baby ought to be awake by now, and 
 come in to be undressed for the night." 
 
 The remark simplified the atmosphere of the 
 room. Ellice' s nerves relaxed in an unutterable 
 sense of fear relieved. 
 
 "I will go and see," she answered back with 
 the same air of entering into a secret guilty un- 
 dertaking. 
 
 A few minutes later Gillette, with a radiant 
 smile, held the child in her arms while his nurse 
 made the necessary preparations. But to Ellice 
 the impassioned gladness that played about the
 
 236 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 drawn features was almost wholly painful. It 
 was a joy so repudiated by the face itself. The 
 hollows of the eyes in their brown setting, the 
 great darkness where the cheek fell in, the pale, 
 bluish lips, and the tremendous prominence of 
 the neck-bone, gave to this living, young, fresh- 
 ening ardor of feeling something that tugged at 
 the heart-strings. It seemed the desire of life 
 struggling in the hands of death. Ellice found 
 it unendurable, and her throat grew full as she 
 watched the silent ecstasy of Gillette's mother- 
 hood. That evening Mrs. Sinclair, Spenser, and 
 she dined together. The hospital nurse on her 
 return found the patient too tired for anything 
 but quiet and bed. It -was Ellice' s own turn to 
 dine upstairs, but for once she was relieved to 
 escape from Gillette's sick-room. She had made 
 a fool of herself there, and done God knew what 
 harm to her friend. At dinner she ate practically 
 nothing. This disturbed Spenser, to whom any 
 variation of mood in her at the present time was 
 replete with terrors. The meal in consequence 
 passed in a series of sparring contests between 
 him and Mrs. Sinclair, whom, for all her kind- 
 heartedness, he still detested. He could not for- 
 give her for being his mother-in-law. During the 
 dangerous period of Gillette's illness, it is true, 
 their mutual antipathy had been forgotten; but 
 since the commencement of her convalescence it 
 had flared up with renewed vigor. Mrs. Sinclair, 
 utterly dissatisfied with his conduct to Gillette, 
 made no effort to conceal contempt. If it were 
 possible to insinuate disgust of mere money-hunt-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 237 
 
 ers, she did, and she frequently enlarged upon the 
 gratitude, at least, a man owed to a woman 
 whom he had married for money's sake. What 
 she said was mostly absolutely true, but in the 
 worst possible taste. Spenser usually left the 
 room when an outburst loomed imminent, but he 
 hated her without stinting. The grotesque part 
 of it was, he felt, that this money she flung in 
 his teeth had already become valueless to him. 
 She was welcome to every farthing of it if she 
 would only take herself and her daughter away 
 along with it. 
 
 As a rule, however, he refused her the gratifi- 
 cation of rejoinder. On this particular evening, 
 harassed by the fact that Ellice was either un- 
 well or recently disquieted, he smothered anxiety 
 under a flow of bitter repartee with his mother- 
 in-law. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair had grown crimson when she and 
 Ellice passed into the drawing-room. The mo- 
 ment the dining-room door closed behind them 
 her wrath found utterance: 
 
 "Oh, my dear, what a fool I was when I urged 
 the child on to this marriage ! As if I didn't know 
 that there were two sorts of men one should 
 never marry: the man with a sallow, bilious- 
 looking complexion, and the man with a purply- 
 red complexion and a short neck. My dear, you 
 can take it from me, both are impossible. The 
 one is like my beautiful son-in-law here, bitter 
 without heart, cruel, full of suspicion, and what 
 I call any peases all gall and intrigue. But, 
 there, the other ain't much better. They've got
 
 238 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 no control, the other sort; the blood is always 
 going to their heads. 'Pshaw!' is their favorite 
 cry, and for two pins they're fit to strike you. 
 They make you live in squalls and commotion 
 from morning till night, always making a row 
 for nothing. But, goody ! I'd sooner have your 
 choleric man than a creature like this, without 
 a genial drop of blood in the whole of his con- 
 stitution. They're always deliberately cruel, these 
 sort. Oh, it makes me ill to think I sort of con- 
 nived and pushed the girl into it. But, thank 
 God, she's got the baby; that'll satisfy her. If 
 ever a woman was born to be a mother, that 
 woman's my Gillette, bless her!" 
 
 Ellice stood by the mantelpiece. She made no 
 answer, and her face remained impassive. When 
 Mrs. Sinclair ceased speaking, she turned and left 
 the room. Hah" unconsciously she was repeating 
 silently to herself one phrase in the recent decla- 
 mation : 
 
 "But, thank God, she's got the baby; that'll 
 satisfy her."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 Gillette was in no way worse next day for 
 what had occurred. Gradually she continued her 
 progress toward recovery, while never by the 
 feeblest sign did she give Ellice to understand 
 that she retained any recollection of their singu- 
 lar conversation. As a matter of fact, it had on 
 several occasions distressingly occupied her mind. 
 Not, that is, the complaint Ellice had made 
 against her own belief. That she knew by intui- 
 tion to have been purely the consequence of a 
 pain any violent contortion eases. It had hurt 
 her at the moment, but the hurt had soon passed. 
 A prayer all her being uplifted, and the calm was 
 clear and limpid once more. Only sin could put 
 permanent unquiet into the soul. What had per- 
 sisted was the very vivid memory of Ellice's suf- 
 fering. She could recall even the vibration in the 
 other's voice, that had made her outcry so pierc- 
 ing. And she loved a man already married. Gil- 
 lette experienced no horror at the statement. 
 She simply mourned over it, as a great irremedi- 
 able calamity, her heart aching for the terrible 
 force stirred only to be suppressed and conquered. 
 Over Ellice her thoughts yearned sick with sym- 
 pathy, and she prayed for her quick delivery from 
 this barren love, until she fell back exhausted in 
 her chair. 
 
 Once her thoughts wandered almost uncon-
 
 240 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 sciously among Ellice's married acquaintances. 
 She drew them back abruptly, ashamed and mis- 
 erable. Ellice had asked her to forget; the least 
 speculation on this subject, therefore, rendered 
 her guilty of a broken compact. Never again, 
 in consequence, did she permit herself a second's 
 conjecture upon the matter. 
 
 A fortnight later she went downstairs for the 
 first time. She was carried down in a chair, es- 
 corted by quite a cortege of loving attendants 
 her mother, Ellice, Spenser, and the hospital nurse. 
 As she left her room, moreover, a bunch of hot- 
 house roses was handed to her by the maid. Mr. 
 Crawford had brought them in celebration of 
 Mrs. Spenser's first trip downstairs. Later on 
 in the day he had been given permission to see 
 her for a little while. 
 
 Ever since the commencement of her long con- 
 valescence, he had sent her daily messages through 
 Mrs. Sinclair, and received some brief answer in 
 return. This interchange of friendly sentences 
 had been a great pleasure to Crawford. He felt 
 kept by it still to some slight extent in the at- 
 mosphere of gentle goodness that had grown so 
 attractive to him. Besides, since he no longer 
 saw Gillette, his imagination had woven a mul- 
 titude of charming sentimentalities concerning her. 
 At the end of a month he remembered his read- 
 ings in the red lamp-light as one of the most de- 
 lightful episodes of recent years. 
 
 He had, however, sufficient common sense to 
 anticipate upon the first re-meeting a temporary 
 disappointment, facing it not without amusement.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 241 
 
 For a minute or two the reality would fall so 
 flat. But in the meantime a certain amount of 
 imaginative license gave flavor to this delicate 
 daily talk with his unseen lady friend ; and in the 
 future the old charm of her disposition would 
 soon once more amply compensate for physical 
 deficiencies. Indeed, as a matter of fact, it was 
 really most satisfactory that she should not be 
 attractive in the fashion he chose half to believe 
 her in her absence. It was just the fact that one 
 could never fall in love with Mrs. Spenser which 
 made her influence so soothing. While, now she 
 had a baby, the kind of charm he desired to reach 
 at through her would be absolutely complete. 
 For the first time in his existence he would rea- 
 lize the mystic grace of that motherhood Roman 
 Catholicism had used with such effect. 
 
 For with Gillette, he felt intuitively, mother, 
 hood would prove the immense emotion that over- 
 turns an existence; she and the child were al- 
 ready one. The tenderness of her love would be 
 an atmosphere; it would cling about her like a 
 perfume, giving her impalpable sacred beauty. 
 
 When Mrs. Sinclair, therefore, came into the 
 library and told him that Gillette was ready to 
 receive him, he experienced quite a flutter at his 
 heart. He had never quite thrown out of mem- 
 ory the agony of the eyes as he had last seen 
 them on the first night of her illness. As they 
 walked to her room he could feel the cold mois- 
 ture of the hand as it had lain in his palm. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair flung open her door with a little 
 air of triumph. 
 16
 
 242 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 "There she is, our poor little ghost. Isn't she 
 a sorry thing, Mr. Crawford, to have about the 
 house?" 
 
 Crawford halted a second at the door, silent 
 with astonishment and emotion. Then he went 
 and took the hand she held out to him, saying 
 in an unsteady voice: 
 
 "Ah, but this is the happiest day I have known 
 since I saw you last, Mrs. Spenser." 
 
 In truth, he felt the sight of her a pleasure alto- 
 gether overleaping any he had anticipated. He 
 could have shouted over it like a school-boy. 
 Once more he had her, this woman, who em- 
 bodied all noble influences to him, whom only 
 to know gave the desire to live more worthily, 
 whose speech affected him like cold water down 
 a throat dry with spirits. Yet his stupefaction 
 at the change in her had been also great. She 
 was his spiritualizing influence unaltered, but 
 she was no longer the woman whose outward 
 appearance it required a little time to grow 
 content with. In her white wrapper, against a 
 pile of old-silk-covered cushions, she was to Craw- 
 ford genuinely beautiful. 
 
 He beamed with contentment, finding her ap- 
 pearance suddenly exquisite. True, it was not 
 the disturbing distinction of features that bewil- 
 ders a man's head and intoxicates his pride. It 
 was something infinitely more sweet, benignant, 
 and indescribable a gentle radiance from within, 
 a soft suffusion bringing peace to all who gazed 
 upon it. Crawford, seeing her all in white on 
 her rose-and-white sofa, with the excessive color
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 243 
 
 gone from her face, and her milk-white throat 
 bare above the frills of her wrapper, would never 
 have hesitated for a moment if called upon to 
 choose between the looks of Ellice and Gillette. 
 Miss Bastien's he felt as if half due to a clever 
 trick. This was profound and inimitable, warm 
 to the heart like the breast of a bird, and simple 
 like the flowers, the country like anything that 
 is unconscious and good. 
 
 He stayed with her half an hour. She said 
 nothing save little simple sentences, uttered in a 
 weak, tired voice; but he left her conscious of 
 immeasurable comfort and happiness. Life had 
 once again become warm and homely and beauti- 
 ful. He could not account for the degree of his 
 own inner exhilaration, while his one desire was 
 to fill the interval between this and their next 
 meeting with some action that could genuinely 
 be called good or useful. The physical apathy 
 gaining upon him owing to his immense corpu- 
 lence was temporarily dispersed, and he walked 
 out of the house trying ardently to discover a 
 possible thing to do, of a nature she might ap- 
 prove. 
 
 After this first meeting he saw her frequently; 
 for slowly, without relapses, she struggled back 
 into semi-health, week by week finding herself 
 capable of more fatigue, until by the spring she 
 seemed to have gained all the strength she was 
 likely to recover. That she would never be phys- 
 ically the same woman was by that time clear 
 to everybody. It was Gillette paled, attenuated, 
 enfeebled in walk and carriage. As for the child,
 
 244 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 it continued puny, weak, pitiable to look at, 
 taking no roots in healthy life. From the nursery 
 issued incessantly a little wailing sound. There 
 was no happiness in the child, no capacity for 
 peace. To Ellice it seemed as if the unrest of his 
 father's life had descended into his tiny spirit, 
 and that he pined night and day to be saved 
 from the misery of living. She never looked at 
 the infant without the unwilling conviction that 
 it would never live, that in a few months or 
 weeks its immense reluctance would have con- 
 quered, and Gillette's baby no longer exist as 
 the salve to heal the wound she (Ellice) was be- 
 ing hourly dragged nearer to making. 
 
 Throughout the remainder of the -winter she 
 stayed in the house. That the only proper action 
 was to go away had frequently caused her to 
 propose departure. But even as she did so she 
 knew that in reality it was not in the smallest 
 degree a means of escaping danger. So long as 
 she remained in the house Spenser was to some 
 small extent pacified. When a mood of morose 
 unrest seized him, she became the inconsequent, 
 laughing, almost passionately light-hearted crea- 
 ture he adored. All that he loved in her she 
 knew by heart, having during the several years 
 of their intimacy coaxed it out of him, without 
 his knowing the extent of the confessions made. 
 And everything he loved, to a very pose or ges- 
 ture, she gave him judiciously, deliberately, with 
 the quiet serenity he loved, too, and an inward 
 heartache that rendered her least spontaneous 
 actions absolutely selfless
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 245 
 
 Once she had labored for her own happiness as 
 much as his. Since his marriage all question of 
 personal delight had dropped sheer out of her. 
 She loved him inimitably, and, apparently, as he 
 was married, immorally, but certainly with only 
 one desire, his happiness. When the day came, 
 as inevitably she believed it would come, that 
 he forced her into shaking the heavy warmth of 
 respectability off her shoulders, she would at least 
 be able truly to swear to herself that the action 
 was not for personal passion. She loved him, and 
 he was wretched what could she do? Had he 
 come to her and stated that peace for him lay 
 in the power of another -woman, she would have 
 experienced, below her anguish, a genuine sense 
 of relief. 
 
 It was not the loss of respectability that bur- 
 dened her soul. Several years ago it would have 
 cost much to discard. Now a woman of nearly 
 thirty, she understood that, between the choice 
 of a place in society and a place in the life of her 
 lover, it was the latter she did wiser to select. 
 Every temperament has its own needs. For hers 
 this was imperative. Her life became motiveless 
 if she dissevered it from Spenser's. Between a 
 course of conduct defined as immoral, and the 
 waste of all the one peculiar capacity granted 
 to her, power to keep this one human being not 
 only contented, but actually in a thin, pale 
 fashion tender and unselfish, she made no pause 
 at all. Life had been given her mysteriously, un- 
 requested, and without explanation. She had 
 been flung, destitute of chart or plummet, upon
 
 246 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 the unfathomable seas of existence. Why? To 
 that none gave answer. For what reason, then, 
 should she take any way but that which the 
 equally inexplicable tendency of her own temper- 
 ament dictated? Who could incontrovertibly as- 
 sert that it was not the one only course right 
 for her, the one supreme reason for her existence? 
 The immorality did not weigh a feather's weight. 
 She loved Spenser vastly more than she did her 
 reputation. But Gillette lay like lead nailed deep 
 into her heart. For now that Gillette had the 
 child, Spenser's constant "Come away, come 
 away! this is a farce, killing in its idiocy!" 
 grew more and more constraining. She felt re- 
 sistance each time like ground slipping under her 
 feet. Gillette had not only her God, so sustain- 
 ing and joy-giving, but this nearer and dearer pos- 
 session still her baby ! Already she was wrapped 
 up in it, all the rich excesses of feeling in her na- 
 ture winding themselves in a tremulous delight 
 round the child she had brought forth. Spen- 
 ser's absence from her life would deprive her of 
 nothing ; he brought into it no warmth, no affec- 
 tion, no guidance, not even a surface geniality 
 or companionship. She would be more at peace 
 \vithout him. To judge an action without knowl- 
 edge of every single, intimate circumstance creat- 
 ing it, was, she discovered in her fevered stay at 
 Rook House, not actually to deal with the action 
 at all. It would not be a flagrant sin, her own 
 and Spenser's elopement, under the real condition 
 of affairs, because the sufferer, the abandoned 
 wife, practically lost nothing by the event.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 247 
 
 But this child her one prayer for it was health. 
 She haunted the nursery, with eyes perpetually 
 seeking to perceive if it put on flesh. If this child 
 died, then Spenser's supplications would fall on a 
 ground of stone. She could not go away then 
 Gillette's need would draw the power of consent 
 out of her. Once, holding the baby in her arms 
 for a second, while the mild-looking nurse left the 
 room, she whispered insanely to it to get strong, 
 to throw off its heart-breaking indecision, and to 
 live to be the flower and perfume of its mother's 
 days. 
 
 Four months passed before he was christened, 
 Gillette's condition causing perpetual delay. Then, 
 in the early spring, she suddenly decided that it 
 must be soon. They were at luncheon Spenser, 
 Ellice, Gillette and her mother. Both Ellice and 
 Mrs. Sinclair had just spoken of leaving. Gillette 
 was about again, the doctor declared baby to 
 be really picking up: they had no excuse to re- 
 main. It was their talk of departure which 
 caused Gillette to propose a speedy christening. 
 That they must stay for; why, Ellice was to be 
 godmother. 
 
 Spenser had taken no part in the conversation, 
 but as she said the last words a sudden antag- 
 onism to the suggestion took possession of him. 
 He had heard of the arrangement before. At its 
 first proposal he had even felt a certain pleasure. 
 It drew Ellice sweetly and permanently into the 
 family. She became, as it were, one of them, 
 while his child would henceforward in a vague 
 fashion appertain to her also. He could think
 
 248 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 of it as a little Ellice's, and, since she had con- 
 sented to be associated with him, could regard 
 it with a new tenderness. 
 
 This aspect of affairs had been fleeting. Ellice 
 destroyed it that same evening when they were 
 dining together. During the few minutes between 
 dessert and coffee, as he came round to sit on 
 the arm of her chair, she said, dropping the 
 light manner she had maintained during their 
 meal: "George, I am so happy to be baby's god- 
 mother the baby that is yours and Gillette's." 
 
 Immediately the idea became repulsive to him. 
 In her manner he comprehended instantly and 
 completely the sentiment she was going to weave 
 about this godmotherhood. He and Gillette were 
 the two souls she cared for most in the world. 
 Their child was going to be for her the coalition 
 of both. And the fact that his child was to be, 
 from a religious point of view, hers also would 
 prove the safety-valve of all the dangerous feeling 
 accumulated within her. The love of its parents, 
 now at war, would stream peacefully upon their 
 baby and hers. The yearning for his father 
 should sink appeased by possession of this little 
 clinging part of him. Innocently, tenderly, the 
 problem of life would be disposed of. Give her 
 the sentimental tie of godmother to his child, 
 and Ellice became entrenched against evil per- 
 suasion. 
 
 He knew her. Under her light exterior she was 
 all fancy, emotion, sentiment. Love of Gillette 
 was an obstruction quite solid enough already; 
 he wanted no more superadded to it. After
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 249 
 
 months he had made just sufficient progress to 
 feel probable months still ahead of him before 
 the moment of actual achievement. Sentiment 
 repulsed him at every encounter a queer, un- 
 happy sentiment that seemed the weakest, most 
 useless, most easily destructible thing in creation, 
 that wailed interminably, never combative, never 
 violent, but inviolable, plaintively intact from 
 day to day; in appearance fine and rendable as 
 gossamer, but to the hands tearing at it firm as 
 a bar of iron. 
 
 When she whispered with her love-stricken eyes, 
 "I cannot I cannot give Gillette pain," the voice 
 was so broken, so weak, Spenser had originally 
 felt a kiss would brush resistance away. Now 
 he knew that, stormed by a hundred kisses, the 
 cry would issue from the wearied lips absolutely 
 unchanged, neither stronger nor weaker : "lean- 
 not I cannot give Gillette pain." 
 
 And every day his worship of her increased, 
 his need of her intensified. He was growing old 
 and unattractive. If he let Ellice go, he would 
 slip into old age unloved, unloving, his whole 
 life a deplorable absurdity, empty even of scan- 
 dal. There would be nothing gained from it but 
 disgust. 
 
 With Ellice his wife or his mistress (pray Heaven 
 the former), something would have been achieved, 
 something stand at the back of him. Morally, his 
 life might never be justified ; after all, morally to 
 justify one's existence is still an unproved neces- 
 sity. The reason to suppose rectitude as its ex- 
 cuse and apology is a mere hypothesis; but to
 
 250 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 justify one's life by attaining in it the sole supreme 
 desire of one's nature was an achievement reliev- 
 ing personality of all necessity to ask why. The 
 exquisite purpose of existence flared like torch- 
 light. Old, one could peacefully rub thin hands 
 with a chuckle over the past. One had achieved 
 one's little victory, enjoyed one's little moment, 
 stacked one's small intelligence with memories 
 probably the best to have accumulated, since truly 
 after one's own temperament. 
 
 But Ellice, the exquisitely refined and subtilized 
 folly of his first conceptions, had already proved 
 a folly that at the least cry from another soul 
 dropped its cap and bells to answer with a quiv- 
 ering responsiveness. He felt in his dealings with 
 her as if he wrestled night and day with a com- 
 batant he could neither throw nor be overthrown 
 by. Physically as well as mentally, the winter's 
 contest had exhausted him. Ellice was not wrong 
 when she reckoned the situation disastrous to his 
 constitution. But at last he commenced to feel 
 victory sure, if not immediate. Gillette's wor- 
 ship of the frail life given by destiny to be her 
 very own was the weapon he was winning with. 
 Day by day now Ellice' s resistance enfeebled. 
 Occasionally she made none, listening to his plans 
 in silence, -with eyes enfevered and half childish 
 in their unconscious submission. 
 
 Gillette had no sooner spoken, therefore, than 
 he felt that, at any cost, Ellice must not become 
 his son's godmother. He looked up before any 
 one could answer, and his remark seemed to click 
 in his mouth through the sharpness of its delivery.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 251 
 
 "My dear, if your mother is not to be god- 
 mother, I think your aunt ought to be. Forgive 
 me, Miss Bastien, but to teach the Catechism to 
 a child is a compliment so absurd it should only 
 be paid to old ladies, -who cannot see the ab- 
 surdity." 
 
 All three women gasped. Spenser's statement 
 was explosive, and its abruptness left them all 
 for a moment equally startled. Gillette's aunt 
 he abhorred with an openness that made Gil- 
 lette unable to receive her except for the day. 
 Now he proposed her as godmother! Gillette 
 sat silent, conscious of a confusion of mind ren- 
 dering her thoughts indefinite and unseizable. 
 Mrs. Sinclair sought, hastily and with too much 
 wildness for success, to find the evil explanation 
 of her son-in-law's proposal. That it signified 
 something undesirable, and was a blow somehow 
 directed against his -wife, she felt assured. Ellice 
 also preserved a puzzled inertness. Spenser's mo- 
 tives eluded her, and his decision appeared cruel 
 as well as disappointing. All her heart desired to 
 have a part in the life of this child of both. She 
 did not definitely regard it as the means to evade 
 elopement with Spenser; but at intervals an ob- 
 scure feeling promised assurance that this flight 
 would become impossible if she became actually 
 godmother to Gillette's baby. With an incongru- 
 ous simplicity, she imagined that to Spenser, also, 
 the temptation would be gradually lessened by 
 it. She became part of his life, linked for the 
 future to his existence by a spiritual share of 
 possession in his son. There would be a bond
 
 252 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 between them at last, slight but real, thin but 
 definite, sanctioned, abiding. 
 
 Her expression of entreaty after his remark -was 
 so intense Spenser felt obliged in some fashion to 
 meet it. He turned to her and continued, aware 
 that he spoke unnaturally: 
 
 "You look, Miss Bastien, as if you really wanted 
 to inculcate the Catechism into the childish mind, 
 and I don't believe you even know it yourself. 
 But, seriously, would you mind being set aside 
 for Aunt Betsy? To tell the truth, my conscience 
 is somewhat uneasy as regards that lady, and 
 such an admirable opportunity of comforting 
 her self-esteem is too obvious to be missed. Ask 
 Gillette if I am not right. What do you think, 
 little mother?" 
 
 He looked across at Gillette, and spoke sweetly. 
 She replied primarily by turning her puzzled eyes 
 upon him. The incident even to her was uncanny. 
 Even she had difficulty in accepting Spenser's 
 sudden conscientious demeanor toward poor Aunt 
 Betsy. After a pause, she said gravely: 
 
 "Yes, auntie would be pleased, and she would 
 love baby very much. But I want Ellice to be 
 godmother most. You would like to be, wouldn't 
 you, dear?" 
 
 "Yes, very much; but, of course, if you and 
 Mr. Spenser think it better the other way " 
 
 The girl spoke with a hesitancy that had 
 nothing unnatural, after her host's plain state- 
 ment. 
 
 Gillette looked with a troubled expression from 
 her friend to her husband, and back again. Mrs.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 253 
 
 Sinclair, who felt that the matter wanted sifting, 
 then spoke: 
 
 "Aunt Betsy would be quite as gratified to be 
 asked on a visit here as to be godmother. But, 
 there, we three women can settle it. After all, 
 you two girls have been friends more than half 
 your lives, and it's only natural you should 
 stand for each other's babies. You've nothing 
 to do with this at all, George. You've chosen a 
 godfather, and that's your share. Not but that 
 I consider Mr. Crawford as good a choice as you 
 could have made. Now we'll go into the morn- 
 ing-room and fix it up. Aunt Betsy shall be made 
 happy, and I'm glad she's on your conscience at 
 last, George. It was quite time." 
 
 She rose as she finished speaking. Ellice and 
 Gillette rose also, equally uncomfortable at her 
 terminating sentence. They went out of the room 
 with her, leaving Spenser at the table. He sat 
 on, feeling horribly angry. Nevertheless, he 
 laughed grimly as Mrs. Sinclair retreated. For 
 the moment she had scored, and the foolishness 
 she had robed him in was of his own weaving. 
 However, the best laugh is notoriously the one 
 that comes last, and that he meant still to be 
 his. He would see also that it had reason to be 
 hearty and unspoiled.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 EUice did not become little Patrick Spenser's 
 godmother, though, after the conference in Gil- 
 lette's boudoir, it still remained an undecided 
 question. Mrs. Sinclair alone held undisturbed 
 conviction that to listen to George was absurd; 
 of course Ellice must stand as arranged. The 
 girl herself reiterated her desire, but half-heart- 
 edly, with a hesitation of manner the pronounced 
 wishes of one parent rendered little more than a 
 necessity. 
 
 Gillette, though extremely anxious to have El- 
 lice, became gradually uncertain whether she was 
 right to thwart her husband's wishes. Finally 
 she went to him, and in a quarter of an hour 
 came back and asked Ellice whether she would 
 mind giving up the arrangement they had made 
 so happily. Her husband seemed to have such 
 strong ideas on the propriety of one godparent 
 at least being of the family, that only by acting 
 absolutely against his wishes could the present 
 agreement stand. 
 
 Ellice noticed that the gentle calm of her man- 
 ner was flecked with uneasiness. Speaking low, 
 that Mrs. Sinclair, plunged angrily into the rec- 
 ords of the Standard, might not hear, she added, 
 after Ellice's silent reception of the news : 
 
 "Dearest, I am so sorry about this; it is a 
 great disappointment to me, too. I told George
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 255 
 
 you would mind it, but he said he could only 
 feel that, if anything happened to him or mother, 
 Aunt Betsy, because of her age and experience, 
 could be a great help to baby. You and I would 
 be merely two girls, he said. It is difficult to 
 folio w a man's ideas sometimes ; but George must 
 thinK more of baby and me than he will admit. 
 He is so reserved. I am often frightened that I 
 misjudge and wrong him, Ellice." 
 
 For a second Ellice hated, not only herself, but 
 Spenser, who had sown the evil in her that now 
 made the simplest speech of her friend a sword- 
 thrust. All that day she tried to find an oppor- 
 tunity of being alone with Spenser. None was 
 possible, for Spenser made no effort to help her. 
 She desired an awkward explanation one, in fact, 
 he did not know yet how to give. 
 
 He had no intention of telling even Ellice his 
 real motive ; it would revolt her and retard every- 
 thing. All that day he could conceive no plaus- 
 ible statement. It came to him finally as he was 
 having his bath next morning. To Ellice he would 
 say that this mock motherhood, this farce where 
 he craved reality, was beyond his nerves. To see 
 her playing this meaningless role in the face of 
 his illimitable regrets had proved out of the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 After breakfast, as they all stood by the French 
 windows, looking out at the sun on the lawn, 
 he asked her carelessly to come for a stroll while 
 he smoked a cigarette. 
 
 Ellice assented, and Gillette removed the rose 
 cre'pe shawl she was wearing, and which had
 
 256 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 originally belonged to Spenser's mother, to fling 
 it over the girl's shoulders. 
 
 "Pick me some of the flags that are growing 
 near the stream," she said as Ellice and Spenser 
 passed into the delicate warmth of the morning 
 sunshine. 
 
 They walked for some time on the path round 
 the lawn in the front. Spenser's explanation was 
 received in good faith. It had already occurred 
 to Ellice that regret for the real motherhood she 
 might have possessed, but for his blindness, lay 
 at the root of the matter. And she made no re- 
 monstrance, her sweet docility to any accom- 
 plished misfortune being one of the traits Spenser 
 admired so much in her. 
 
 The lilac was in full bloom, and dripped still 
 with rain fallen in the night. Here and there the 
 rhododendron bushes flashed patches of mauve 
 or crimson upon the eye, though as yet they had 
 only flowered fitfully. The laburnum was a blaze 
 of gold, and the white may- trees looked like great 
 pinions spread low against the sky. All the air 
 was aromatic with faint, sweet odors. The col- 
 ors of the spring strewed gayety upon the earth. 
 
 As they "walked in the sunshine, tremulously 
 but exquisitely blithe, Ellice felt as if the hand 
 of coming summer was madly at work upon 
 her too. As if in answer to all this blossoming, 
 to all this perfume and color and light, she felt 
 a swift responsive cry issue from her own na- 
 ture, clamoring to be allowed its own way also, 
 to be permitted to throw out equal flowers of 
 happiness, and, like the summer that was so
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 257 
 
 soon to follow and so soon to end, to be 
 granted leave once richly and completely to bask 
 in revivifying sunlight. 
 
 She felt brusquely uneasy. As she walked she 
 found herself repeating : 
 
 "Oh, in a short, bitter life to be happy once; 
 and Gillette has baby Gillette has baby." Con- 
 scious that the mood was dangerous, she said to 
 the other, moving away from the scented borders : 
 "Let us go into the back garden and pick Gil- 
 lette's irises." 
 
 Gillette had meanwhile gone with her mother 
 to the nursery to see the child weighed. This 
 occurred every week, while she stood by with 
 galloping heart-beats to hear good or bitter 
 news. To-day the infant's feeble wail at the per- 
 formance startled her. He cried as if from weaker 
 and more weary lungs than ever. She stood star- 
 ing at the tiny form in its short flannel shirt 
 with a silence that palpitated. 
 
 "Oh, the little funny baby in its scales!" Mrs. 
 Sinclair cooed to it, smiling. 
 
 Gillette stood motionless, impregnated with new 
 foreboding. 
 
 The little Patrick that was to be for the third 
 time weighed less than the week previously. Mrs 
 Sinclair looked anxiously at the nurse. 
 
 "I don't understand, do you, nurse? and I 
 don't like it," she said uneasily. "The child's 
 absurd for its age. This humanized milk evi- 
 dently suits him no longer." 
 
 Gillette held out her arms to the child without 
 speaking. In a silence inexpressibly piteous she 
 17
 
 258 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 drew her crying baby against her breast, and com- 
 menced to walk to and fro across the room with it. 
 
 As she walked she prayed for this unutterably 
 precious life, but with her soul still repeating be- 
 low, "Thy will be done, O Lord Thy will be done." 
 
 For many days anxiety had ached in her like 
 a tooth decayed. This decrease in weight solidi- 
 fied the floating, uncertain, almost repudiated 
 and unallowed terrors of weeks past. She had 
 hardly yet confessed them to any one. But she 
 had again and again lately shrunk from conver- 
 sations about baby, both with her mother and 
 the nurse, for fear of some ghastly thing they 
 might give utterance to. Yet they had never 
 remarked anything except that he grew slowly, 
 was a little worry, did not put on flesh as could 
 be wished. But this third week -without increase 
 of weight tore the comfortable bandages off Gil- 
 lette's eyes. She saw the danger close to her, 
 felt it stand solid, with no movement of retreat. 
 Uttering a low cry, Gillette stood suddenly still. 
 She had not heard a word of the conversation 
 between her mother and the nurse, but she turned 
 to them with a face set with sudden determination. 
 
 'Mother," she said almost brusquely, "will you 
 
 send a telegram to Dr. D for me? Now, dear, 
 
 at once, please. I am troubled about baby." 
 
 She stood expecting a protest, a hasty reassur- 
 ance. Mrs. Sinclair's face, however, betrayed re- 
 lief. As a matter of fact, Gillette had only fore- 
 stalled her own proposal. She kissed the other's 
 /- ch??k rapidly once or twice. 
 
 "Dear, yc., a- ? not to worry yourself to death
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 259 
 
 for nothing. Yes, we will have Dr. D at once ; 
 
 but there is no real necessity: baby is only a 
 naughty little fellow who knows how to scare 
 an inexperienced mother. Ah, but there, you are 
 all the same over a first. If it doesn't grow like 
 a pig you are at once frightened out of your 
 wits. Ask nurse if she 'asn't had worse little 
 morsels to rear. It is the business of babies to 
 keep one constantly upset for a year or two. 
 
 Now I'm off to wire. Dr. D will soon put 
 
 the little rascal right." 
 
 When her mother had left the room, Gillette 
 resumed her silent pacing backward and forward. 
 Every now and then she bent and kissed with a 
 repressed passion the tiny creature in her arms. 
 The nurse, a stout, warm-hearted widow, who 
 had lost two children of her own, congested with 
 anxious comments she longed to make. The 
 quality of the mother's silence stopped her. To 
 tell her the truth, moreover, was impossible, for 
 personally the woman never supposed the child 
 would live. As she had said freely to the servants 
 downstairs, "From the beginning the thing 'adn't 
 the look of life," much less its poor chill little 
 body, that had to be cased in cotton-wool and 
 rubbed with oils. 
 
 When she had tied on her flannel apron Gillette 
 came up to her. Still, without speaking, she gave 
 up her heart's treasure. The nurse had placed a 
 chair for her the other side of the little bath, but 
 as soon as she had given up the child Gillette 
 turned and left the room. 
 
 Aimlessly she walked along the corridor to the
 
 260 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 window at the end. It looked out on the back 
 garden, where a path, hemmed on one side by a 
 high hedge of box, led to the kronen garden and 
 the stream running through the further part of 
 the grounds. She could see the stream as a little 
 gleam of silver, but she saw it without conscious- 
 ness of the fact. Gazing out of doors, she counted 
 the hours that must elapse before an answer 
 could come to her telegram. She stood there for 
 a quarter of an hour, but at last her sudden ter- 
 ror commenced to subside. If there had really 
 been danger, she said to herself, her mother, 
 George, Ellice, the nurse, would all have shown 
 some signs of it on their faces. And they were as 
 usual they smiled, and ate, and went about as 
 in tranquil, ordinary times. She was foolish, 
 and as yet ignorant, in her motherhood. No 
 longer crucified by agony, she felt it necessary 
 to go back and consult nurse about to-day's 
 calamity. Probably it was only due to some 
 insignificant accident; at baby's age health varied 
 from hour to hour. 
 
 Once more her breath came naturally, and she 
 perceived that the sun was shining, and that the 
 huge white may-tree on the other side of the box- 
 hedge was like a bride's veil shimmering in the 
 light. At that moment George and Ellice ap- 
 peared coming from the kitchen garden. Ellice 
 wore the rose crepe shawl as a past lady of 
 fashion might have worn it on a summer's day, 
 dropped gracefully over her arms. It was a 
 pretty bit of color against the dark hedge and 
 the pale pastel blue of Ellice' s gown.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 261 
 
 Gillette, taking in half absently the bright and 
 delicate effect of the approaching figure, suddenly 
 grew ice from head to foot. She stared then, fas- 
 cinated by unformulated horror. There could be 
 no mistake as to what she saw sight could play 
 no tricks in full revealing morning sunlight. And, 
 as they stepped into the path, her husband had 
 seized the hanging ends of the other's shawl, 
 looked hastily round, and then, drawing Ellice 
 toward him, had kissed her. It was but the 
 light kiss of a moment in an instant the girl 
 had pulled the rose ends out of his hands ; but 
 to the woman watching it gave the impression 
 of lasting a long while, a shameful, interminable 
 space of time. 
 
 Turned to stone, she stared on at them out of 
 the window. When the shawl was free, what 
 would Ellice do? She had just time for the 
 thought while both contested over the wrap. 
 Then she saw it was abandoned to Ellice, and 
 that the latter was slowly replacing it over her 
 shoulders. Slowly, too, when she had done so, 
 like two persons peacefully enjoying the sun, and 
 reluctant to come indoors, they continued to ap- 
 proach the house. Before they passed out of 
 sight, Gillette perceived Ellice point tranquilly 
 to something either in the garden or field be- 
 yond. 
 
 After they had disappeared, Gillette still stared 
 at the space they had vacated. She still saw 
 them there between the shower-like may-tree and 
 the hedge of box reacting their little pitiable 
 scene, with its delicate white-and-green setting.
 
 262 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 They had kissed kissed kissed. What was a kiss? 
 What did a kiss signify taken suddenly from a 
 woman pulled to one by the fringes of a crepe 
 shawl? What lay behind a kiss leaving no cata- 
 clysm of horror, or anger, or revolt? 
 
 Ellice had been kissed by her husband, and, as 
 if a circumstance sweet and habitual, had con- 
 tinued tranquilly to walk with him afterward. 
 It was a kiss taken as such a thing only could be 
 between two people so used to the circumstance 
 as to have no after confusion, explanation, ex- 
 citement. They could kiss and fall back upon 
 previous conversation. Oh, God how often they 
 must have done it before! 
 
 Gillette stirred for the first time since she had 
 caught sight of them. The need to be eased of 
 some stifling pressure caused her to fumble with 
 the hooks of her bodice, as if about to undo them 
 and give her heart more space to beat in. 
 
 To accept Ellice in this incident was perhaps 
 the hardest of all. But while she resisted, the 
 inner vision saw them still, the green of the 
 hedge throwing into relief the girl's pale blue 
 dress, and the pink of the shawl, that seemed 
 now focussed for everlasting through the lenses 
 of sight. 
 
 Gillette trembled, and upon her lips stammered 
 a silent prayer. 
 
 "O God, help me to understand. Keep me from 
 hard and bitter thoughts. I beseech Thee, teach 
 me compassion. Teach me what to do. For 
 Christ's sake, O God, teach me to have pity, and 
 to forgive."
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 263 
 
 Her knees shook, but slowly the first passion- 
 ate condemnation passed out of her soul. How 
 should she, herself so unworthy, condemn any 
 one? For each nature its own temptations, for 
 each life its own horrible combats against evil. 
 She wanted now to be on her knees ; only in that 
 attitude could she continue to seek light in this 
 chaos of disaster that had torn asunder her life. 
 The existence of yesterday had been sweet and 
 wholesome, filled with the unconscious peace of 
 ordinary household incidents. Now she was 
 afraid afraid of her friend, afraid of her hus- 
 band, afraid of many nameless, unformulated, 
 impalpable things. Already she felt as if the 
 house were packed with horrors to be afraid of. 
 Sin had come into it, and the incommensurable 
 griefs that lie in wait to follow upon sin. Sin 
 and suffering beat against her face as she stood, 
 and she felt them stream along the corridor, 
 spreading themselves everywhere, everywhere in 
 the house. The double pain in her mind was 
 annihilating. Her baby was dangerously ill, and 
 Ellice loved her husband. She had seen only a 
 kiss, but the rest had come to her unsought. 
 These two loved each other; how terrible, how 
 terrible ! 
 
 Then at last she turned from the window and 
 went to her room. Once there, she passed to the 
 small inner chamber and fell upon her knees. 
 
 She prayed wildly. To have followed her mean- 
 ing would have been difficult, for the mind sprang 
 from one aching thought to another, from one 
 supplication to the next, without sequence. And
 
 264 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 between every fresh petition for Ellice, Spenser, or 
 the child, issued broken prayers for herself that 
 she might have strength 3 b' ar this terminating 
 blow to the hopes of her own married life ; that 
 she might love Ellice more, not less, now that she 
 knew her bitter story; that she might be made 
 selfless and compassionate. In the end, broken, 
 miserable, riddled with anxiety and injurious 
 knowledge, she knelt wordless, emptied of utter- 
 ance. 
 
 Two hours must have passed since she left the 
 nursery, and at last she asked herself heavily, 
 hardly with any feeling, if an answer could yet 
 have come to her telegram. The desire to be 
 back in the nursery slowly followed, coming with 
 the pacifying effect of an opiate upon physical 
 pain. The abrupt vision of little Patrick's bas- 
 sinette, a sea of -white and blue, of the fireplace 
 with its high fender garlanded -with little child- 
 ish garments, of the washing-stand with its soak- 
 ing bottles, seemed to renew her brain with hope- 
 ful, homely facts. 
 
 She must go to her baby. Something dreadful 
 had happened: deceit, disloyalty, and sin under- 
 mined the seemly peace of her house ; but her be- 
 loved was still there, with his exquisite need of 
 her, and at the thought over anguish flowed once 
 more the unquenchable joy of her motherhood. 
 
 She rose from her knees, but as she stood the 
 room swam round her. How could she meet her 
 husband or Ellice, holding this shameful knowl- 
 edge to undermine honest intercourse? And her 
 poor racked brain drew into life past caresses,
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 265 
 
 wonderful and sweet to her at the time She sat 
 down on the sofa at the foot of the bed, and 
 was played upon by recollections, each one like 
 a whip cutting open her heart, of Spenser's ten- 
 der moments moments, at least, when he had 
 simulated genuine emotion. The first sweet days 
 of her initiation into love of him stirred her with 
 a piteous renewal of past sensation. She felt the 
 uncomprehended call of human passion with the 
 same tremor of mysterious fear as she had felt 
 it at Spenser's entreaties. He had taught her to 
 love, taught her that it was sweet to be a woman. 
 Love of him had fallen irradicably into her being. 
 Even the bitter agony of the months before her 
 baby had come to heal all agonies, when she had 
 learned with an irrefutable clearness that his love 
 had been to a great extent mere trickery, had 
 not destroyed her own humble affection. She 
 had become afraid of him afraid, that is, of be- 
 ing repulsive or annoying to him ; but she bore a 
 tenderness always in her breast, that no neglect 
 attenuated. 
 
 Now there was no hope, not even for the future. 
 All the love she had dreamed one day perhaps to 
 win was already given, being expended every 
 hour. A hundred signs of his overpowering love 
 for Ellice hurled themselves into her as she sat 
 there. All these months she had noticed nothing, 
 suspected nothing, and now she learned abruptly, 
 had seen had seen, and seen enough to know 
 everything the depth, the recklessness, the very 
 vehemence of her husband's love for Ellice. 
 
 "He thinks of nothing else!" she exclaimed sud-
 
 266 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 denly out loud, gasping under the inrush of re- 
 vealing recollections. 
 
 The words had hardly grown silent on the air 
 before the handle of her door was tried. 
 
 "Gillette, what are you doing? I have been 
 waiting for you all the morning, and now there 
 is a telegram. The doctor will be here at five. 
 Let me in, child." 
 
 It was Mrs. Sinclair. 
 
 Gillette rose to her feet, still trying piteously 
 to decide how she could meet Ellice and her hus- 
 band. Must she keep silent, or speak the truth? 
 Her mother, meanwhile, commenced to play im- 
 patiently with the door-handle. Leaving thought 
 till later, Gillette went wearily and let her in. 
 
 "Good God, child! what is the matter with 
 you? Have you had another heart attack? Oh 
 dear, what a worry you are, allowing yourself 
 to go to pieces for nothing ! I thought you were 
 with baby, and you have been sitting here fright- 
 ening yourself to death, simply because there is 
 no denying you have a delicate child, who will 
 want care and doctoring." 
 
 Gillette struggled uselessly to find something 
 reassuring to say. It seemed to her she heard 
 and saw her mother only from immense distance. 
 And as she sought intelligence for a normal an- 
 swer, the pink crepe shawl formed before her eyes. 
 Forgetting Mrs. Sinclair, she stood still and stared 
 at it. Sometimes she saw Ellice in it, with the 
 entire setting of green and white background. 
 Then Ellice faded out of it, with George and the 
 hedge and may-tree fading after her. But the
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 267 
 
 pink shawl remained in the room, hanging in the 
 air before her eyes, vivid enough to be tangible, 
 horrible enough to be but the mask of a devil. 
 
 The luncheon-gong boomed through the house, 
 and the vision loosened its clutches, paled, and 
 finally gave place to the common realities of the 
 moment. Mrs. Sinclair was still asking what 
 ailed her, and there was lunch and the same out- 
 ward routine everywhere as yesterday. It cost 
 an effort of mind, however, to realize that there 
 would be nothing changed, They would talk of 
 ordinary matters, and Ellice would laugh no, 
 no, surely not that! Most things would keep 
 their normal aspect, but not Ellice. And yet 
 Ellice had laughed yesterday this morning with 
 the man she loved secretly and shamefully, at 
 table with her. Oh, if it were not Ellice, her 
 friend, her other soul! 
 
 "Go down to lunch, mother," she said, shiver- 
 ing without knowing it. "I will go into the 
 nursery and have mine sent up. I am not very 
 well, and I do not want to leave him any more 
 to-day." 
 
 All that afternoon she remained in the child's 
 room. Merely to be there in its atmosphere 
 calmed her. The very illustrated Christmas pic- 
 tures on the wall held an element pushing in- 
 famous tragedy out of reach. In a nursery how 
 could evil retain a place? She sat most of the 
 time by the white bassinette, with one hand on 
 the frilled coverlet, by this mere touch of his lit- 
 tle bed kept from utter sorrow. When the child 
 woke, and she held him at last in her arms, she
 
 268 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 did not even remember any more the garden 
 scene. She marvelled only at the incommensur- 
 able goodness of God. Oh, how wonderful to 
 make the deepest joy of woman's life also her 
 greatest duty! To think that all the care and 
 love and thought expended upon one's child, 
 which were life's festivals, were also holy and 
 right, needing not one second's remorse or lim- 
 itation. 
 
 She felt, as she held her baby that afternoon, 
 that to let him out of her arms again would dis- 
 lodge her heart with effort. Little Patrick, awake 
 but peaceful, gazed at her -with the curious stare 
 of infancy. And while he looked long and un- 
 afraid into her eyes, all her frame thrilled to a 
 marvel ous sense of closeness. It was as if he and 
 she deliberately exchanged loving intimacies, the 
 little fearless eyes uttering their trust and confi- 
 dence, she her inco municable affection. They 
 told her he had as yet no mind, barely a con- 
 sciousness. Yes, for the outside world; but God 
 is good, and to a mother there is no time bereft 
 of precious intercourse. A baby's eyes are never 
 empty to the worship of the woman who brought 
 it into the world. 
 
 Presently Ellice and her mother came together 
 to fetch her downstairs. She excused herself, 
 pleading desire to remain in the child's room. 
 Her searching gaze at Ellice -was for a second 
 unnatural, then became quiet and sweet again. 
 In truth, bewilderment stunned every deeper sen- 
 sation. Ellice wore her usual air of happy seren- 
 ity. The ravages of an unquiet conscience and an
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 269 
 
 aching heart had not laid a finger on the childish 
 skin. 
 
 "Give me understanding to be pitiful, dear 
 Lord," breathed Gillette, feeling as whirled blindly 
 in a great darkness. 
 
 They stayed with her until tea-time, putting 
 down her unsmiling quietude to the circumstance 
 of the doctor's visit. For the same reason they 
 did not resist her desire to remain where she was ; 
 but they sent up Spenser himself with her tea 
 and bread-and-butter. The child was asleep 
 again, but her husband stood opposite her by 
 the window, speaking of the unsatisfactory symp- 
 toms of the morning as if himself genuinely dis- 
 turbe by them. He praised her prompt action 
 in sending for the doctor, and tried to cheer her 
 by half-tender banter over her undue solicitude. 
 Gillette replied only in monosyllables; her upper 
 lip commenced to quiver, and continued all the 
 time he -was in the room. To speak to him had 
 to her something both strange and heartrending. 
 
 When he had gone, she remembered with sudden 
 gratitude that the ordeal of meeting both was at 
 least over, and that nothing had happened, noth- 
 ing had grown impossible. Her confusion of mind 
 was overpowering that was all. And when the 
 doctor had been, and these uneven heart-beats 
 for her baby's safety had ceased, she would have 
 time to tear away the mists that obscured under- 
 standing. Just now, the mere actuality of the 
 two sorrows was as much as she could hold.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair, Ellice, and Spenser stood together 
 in the library. 
 
 Dr. D had gone; Gillette was still in the 
 
 nursery. The doctor had asked her to remain 
 and pacify the child while he gave his directions 
 to her mother downstairs. His manner expressed 
 hope and cheerfulness, but once out of her pres- 
 ence he gave his verdict in its entirety. The child 
 was dying, consumptive from head to foot. From 
 the beginning its strength had been insufficient 
 to take a hold on life. It would not suffer ; prob- 
 ably it would pass away quietly in its sleep. The 
 dysentery and sickness might possibly increase, 
 but this he would do his best to stop. 
 
 They listened in silence. Only Mrs. Sinclair pro- 
 tested with feeble tears against the encroach of 
 this new misery. When the doctor had gone she 
 commenced to cry hysterically. Spenser sank into 
 the chair by the fire, holding his head in his hands. 
 Ellice alone thought clearly, going instantly across 
 to Spenser. 
 
 "Listen," she said. "Don't you see it is no 
 time to think of anything except Gillette? The 
 doctor has said she must only be told gradually. 
 Oh, think of Gillette ! if anything happens to baby, 
 how she will suffer!" 
 
 Forgetting Mrs. Sinclair's presence, her hands 
 went out to him helplessly. It seemed as if she
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 271 
 
 could not get herself understood, and yet he must 
 be made at once there was not a minute to lose, 
 since Gillette might be down at any moment 
 to see that they should be ready to drop every 
 thought save how best to have ready their pite- 
 ous gayety, their story to cheer and sustain, their 
 garbled version of the doctor's verdict. 
 
 "Mrs. Sinclair" she turned to her fiercely "you 
 mast not cry. Don't you realize that Gillette will 
 be here in a minute? George, tell her to stop 
 or go." 
 
 She was distraught, dreading every second Gil- 
 lette's unobserved entrance. Spenser rose at 
 once. He, too, was anxious to do all in his 
 power to spare the unhappy mother. That this 
 disaster marked him as a secondary victim he 
 could at present at least, in sheer pity, grimly 
 accept. In Ellice's voice alone he had discerned 
 instantly a death-blow accepted to all the past, 
 and to all the preconceived future. In the words 
 "Oh, think of Gillette!" he had heard both the 
 expressed meaning of the -words and the uninten- 
 tioned signification beneath. It was the one who 
 suffered most who should be most considered, 
 and henceforward the most anguished of the 
 three would be Gillette. He went over to Mrs. 
 Sinclair. 
 
 "Look here, Mrs. Sinclair: Gillette will be down 
 in a few seconds; what reason, may I ask, are 
 you going to give for this deluge?" 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair tried to stop the tears that choked 
 her ; but the strain of her daughter's long illness 
 had told upon her. Physically she had not yet
 
 272 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 recouped from it, and she knew this to be a blow 
 Gillette -would never wholly recover from. 
 
 "I will go to my room. Tell her baby wants 
 care. I will be back by then. I " 
 
 She rose, crying helplessly. As she went to the 
 door Gillette came in. 
 
 "Mother!" 
 
 None of the three remembered to have heard 
 anything so terrible as that single word. It froze 
 in the blood. Like ice it pressed against the chest. 
 The sound tore the air, and then ceased abruptly, 
 with a completeness more horrible than itself. 
 After it Gillette stood staring at her mother. 
 Visibly her power of comprehension reeled de- 
 mented in her head, for she wore the look of a 
 mad woman. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair tried to speak, but the shock of 
 her daughter's unexpected entrance shook the 
 last hope of self-control out of her. Her tears 
 became unmistakably hysterical. 
 
 "For goodness' sake go away!" exclaimed Spen- 
 ser at last in her ear. Then he took both Gil- 
 lette's hands. "Your mother, dear, is behaving 
 
 like a lunatic because Dr. D wishes baby to 
 
 have brandy in his milk. She is absurd, with her 
 old-fashioned notions." 
 
 Gillette turned her eyes to him as he spoke. 
 The appearance of dementia had gone, but their 
 gaze was unendurable. Sane, they yet seemed 
 about to die of anguish. 
 
 Ellice was already at her side, but she had 
 rendered all efforts at deception useless by her 
 instant absolute comprehension; and her present
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 273 
 
 expression no phrases could meet. They slunk 
 from the lips shaping them, appalled at then- 
 futility. At last she spoke: 
 
 "Tell me, I beseech you, the truth absolutely 
 all!" 
 
 Spenser had never conceived anything so fright- 
 ful as this scene. She stood looking like a per- 
 son whose gaze is magnetized by horrors, sub- 
 lime and terrible in her agony, her patience, her 
 voiceless dignity. He reiterated frenziedly that 
 there was hope. The child was seriously ill, but hope 
 could never be non-existent while life continued. 
 
 Her blue lips moved as he ceased speaking, evi- 
 dently in prayer. Mrs. Sinclair had rushed from 
 the room. Spenser and Ellice stood and waited, 
 clinging to the icy hands. To comfort would 
 have been useless. Gillette's grief was beyond 
 reach. But they murmured her name at inter- 
 vals, beseeching her to withdraw her eyes from 
 the awful vision of the future that assailed them. 
 She did not hear. But suddenly her lips parted, 
 fluttering helplessly like weary wings. 
 
 'Will he suffer?" 
 
 "No, no! Only fall asleep." 
 
 The lips stirred again, but the words they 
 framed were to her God, not to them. 
 
 "Make her sit down," Ellice whispered to Spen- 
 ser at last, and they drew her to the armchair 
 by the fireplace. She sat upright in it, still gaz- 
 ing into space, still wrestling with comprehen- 
 sion, still fighting for strength to bear her an- 
 guish nobly, still beating back irresistible despair 
 with the same sublime cry: 
 18
 
 274 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 "Thy will be done, O God!" 
 
 For hours she sat on and battled with abysmal 
 pain. And for hours they dared not approach 
 her with their feeble compassions. It was a sor- 
 row like a fire, licking up all that came near. 
 Gillette, though they saw and touched her body, 
 they could not approach. She and her agony had 
 gone into the loneliness where only one can abide 
 at a time, where the heart is tortured in dark- 
 ness and the soul is tested in an impenetrable 
 desolation. 
 
 Meanwhile the other two could only wait until 
 she should creep back to them. She had asked 
 to be alone, and they had gone into the music- 
 room adjoining. From time to time Ellice and 
 Spenser went in turn to try and rouse her. They 
 found her attitude absolutely unchanged. Her 
 hands were clasped, and she prayed unceasingly, 
 obviously unconscious of where she was. 
 
 At last Spenser could bear the situation no 
 longer. 
 
 "She will die!" he exclaimed. "My God, Ellice, 
 how horrible! I can't look at her. Something 
 must be done. She has been like this for two 
 hours. They will be sounding the dinner-gong in 
 a minute. Can't you do anything?" 
 
 Ellice herself looked haggard. She also felt this 
 immobility in the hands of boundless miseiy must 
 consume vitality. At his appeal, therefore, she 
 went once more into the library. Gillette was no 
 longer bolt upright. Her head had fallen between 
 the hands on her lap. Ellice knelt and touched 
 the icy fingers with her own.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 275 
 
 "Sweet, won't you be brave? Baby wants all 
 your strength and your love, and there is noth- 
 ing hopeless while thei'e is life. For his sake 
 won't you speak to me?" 
 
 For a second there was no movement. Then 
 slowly, with an infinite, tragic effort, the head 
 withdrew from the sheltering darkness of the 
 hands. 
 
 "Forgive me, I it is as God wills." 
 
 In a torrent the tears poured down Ellice's 
 face. Nothing could have been more incommuni- 
 cably piteous than this supplication for forgive- 
 ness ; all the beauty of Gillette's nature throbbed 
 through the grace of her return to them. But to 
 Ellice her self-repression was more ghastly than 
 any outbreak. If she had flung open her arms 
 in a gasping need for human sympathy, there 
 would have been an inlet for love to reach her 
 through. This quiet revealed a despair that 
 knows itself below the roots of solace, that can- 
 not speak or be spoken to, no words knowing 
 its isolation, its immensity. 
 
 "Don't cry," she continued softly as the other 
 wept. "Don't cry, Ellice." 
 
 And from that moment her renunciation was 
 made, and she resumed her ceaseless effort to ren- 
 der all that life brings beautiful out of sorrow 
 only to love the more. 
 
 She went with Ellice into the next room, kissed 
 her mother, and held out her stricken hands to 
 her husband, saying only with a wistful humility 
 as the dinner-gong boomed through the corridor : 
 
 "May I stay upstairs? I could not eat."
 
 276 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Mercifully, all that she had seen in the garden 
 had been forgotten. She spoke to Ellice and 
 Spenser, eased at last for the moment of any 
 bitter knowledge. Mental exhaustion was near. 
 The small degree of consciousness remaining she 
 used in the effort to spare those in the house by 
 a passive docility to their wishes. Only when 
 her mother tried to draw her out of the night- 
 nursery to her own room did she make any re- 
 sistance to what w r as asked of her. Then, with 
 a weary movement, in itself a supplication, she 
 drew out of the encircling clasp of her mother's 
 arms. 
 
 "I cannot, dear. While I can I must sleep by 
 him, be awake when he wakes, do all there is 
 to do. Have pity, mother; it is only a little 
 while." 
 
 The older woman kissed the aching head laid 
 child-like against her own in a silent consent. 
 She left the room sobbing again piteously.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 While Mrs. Sinclair arranged a bed for Gillette 
 in the nursery, Spenser and Ellice sat together in 
 the drawing-room. To be alone with her after 
 the unrelieved horror of the last few hours felt to 
 the man like a snatch of sleep in a prolonged 
 night-watch. In addition, the relief of not seeing 
 Gillette's expression eased his limbs and lightened 
 his chest. For all his pity, revulsion had already 
 set in against taking any lengthy part in a drama 
 so poignantly and unconquerably distressing. 
 
 He was aware already of a creeping lassitude 
 in the part demanded of him. The thought of 
 the days to come, muffled in tears and swathed 
 in melancholy, brought on a positive shiver. To 
 feel in Gillette's fashion wrecked the whole of life 
 in its excesses. More than ever the afternoon had 
 taught him that one should grieve with eyes 
 strained for the least ray of sunlight, hands alert 
 to catch the least mitigation of misery, throat 
 thirsting to change a groan into the healthy 
 laugh of a rebound from sorrow. And these peo- 
 ple, he reflected, would make a cult of depression, 
 rendering his house a sepulchre with a cradle for 
 coffin in it. 
 
 Good God ! what fools ! Gillette, of course, one 
 could hardly expect to be anything but prostrate. 
 Only, when nothing remained to be done, when 
 the irrevocable had been accomplished, how much
 
 278 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 more reasonable and pleasant to both to forge 
 ahead, to put the lamentable incident, no longer 
 alterable by a hair's breadth, at the back, where 
 one's eyes are not, and look at the revivifying 
 front! But no, these women would weep for 
 months, fill every room with useless mourning, 
 and speak as if their own lungs were half dead 
 also. What a prospect to look forward to, espe- 
 cially for a man already too intimate with the 
 characteristics of sickliness and melancholy! 
 
 But suddenly, as if the breath of freshness he 
 needed, he remembered that he and Ellice were 
 undisturbed together. She sat looking at him, 
 and, as if he had expected to see her in crape 
 already, the pale-blue frieze gown she had on 
 struck him with a sense of surprise. At the sight, 
 with much the shock of a blow, he remembered 
 all that had occurred in the aromatic warmth 
 of the garden: the promise drawn there like a 
 sigh out of her rosy lips the promise this pain- 
 ful death annihilated. In a fortnight they would 
 have been abroad together. Now 
 
 Ellice saw his face grow red. He looked to her 
 like a man staring at an enemy he desired to take 
 by the throat. 
 
 "George," she said, making her voice less sad 
 than caressing. 
 
 She knew him as a book acquired by heart, 
 and knew it was a time to soothe and tranquil- 
 lize. If she suffered, it must be secretly and in 
 private. 
 
 "My dear, this is a terrible business," he ex- 
 claimed harshly. "I pity that poor woman up-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 279 
 
 stairs more than I can say; but I have a devil 
 in me, Ellice, and I can't control him. I must 
 have you just the same. Do you hear? This 
 morning's arrangement was final." 
 
 He got up and grasped her wrists. There was 
 no visible reason for this violent grip; she made 
 no denying gesture. But Spenser was less con- 
 scious of the physical action than the mental 
 coercion it symbolized. 
 
 "Well," he continued with irritated insistence, 
 "why don't you speak now we are alone?" 
 
 She opened her lips to answer, when, conscious 
 brusquely of the inflow of naturalness and well- 
 being he felt with no living being as he did with 
 her, he let go of her wrists, to discharge the flood- 
 gates of the afternoon's emotions. 
 
 "Have you ever, sweet, been through anything 
 more awful? I felt that if she didn't speak soon 
 one would go mad one's self. Ellice, come and 
 sit by me, and let's be natural for a moment. 
 For pity's sake, dear, help one to throw it off 
 for a second or two. Oh, you wonderful, dear 
 woman! This business will make me ill: I am 
 positively saturated in morbidity by it already. 
 Do you know, with your hand in mine, the only 
 thought I am capable of? In connection with 
 you the very essence of beautiful life it is gigan- 
 tesque positively." 
 
 The moment he had asked her to come and sit 
 by him she had moved over to the sofa, where 
 they could be side by side. Spenser himself mar- 
 velled at the perfectibility of her intuition. Re- 
 sisted, his overstrained nerves would have led to
 
 280 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 a scene, dangerous and disgusting under the cir- 
 cumstances. And with consummate insight she 
 had yielded to the lesser and immediate need, 
 that, pacified by the present consent and roused 
 to gratitude, he might realize it was not the 
 hour to press more impossible matters. 
 
 "Well, do you give up, little one?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied, keeping her manner as nor- 
 mal as she could, and forcing a half-smile. 
 
 At the freshness of her voice Spenser felt a cur- 
 rent of pleasure run through his system. He re- 
 peated to himself that she was wonderful. With 
 a word, a smile, a little caressing movement of 
 her hand in his, she had hurled all the intolerable 
 excess out of the gloom about them. It was 
 there, of course, but tempered by the rebounding 
 vitality of youth, by the involuntary recoil ot 
 wholesome life from all dark, morbid, and cheer- 
 destroying circumstances. 
 
 "I want when I die, sweet, to be buried in the 
 sheet you have slept in the night before the 
 sheet your beautiful body has made full of poetry, 
 fragrance, mysteriousness. See to it, Ellice. Now 
 I have thought of it, I could not rest in my grave 
 without. I shall feel your soft arms pressing 
 about me, your hair falling upon my face, and all 
 the strange, queer sweetness of your nature filter- 
 ing through to mine. I shall possess the aro- 
 matic warmth of your mind and body both in 
 the shroud stolen from your bedroom the shroud 
 you, Ellice, had just breathed a whole innocent 
 night's sleep against. Oh, to rest long and un- 
 disturbed in your warm, sweet sheet that is
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 281 
 
 worth dying for ! I loathe death, dear, but now 
 at last I have drawn its sting." 
 
 He spoke with a hint of fever, and his hands 
 were moist. Truly, agitation cf the kind now 
 surrounding them was singularly undesirable for 
 his health, and the girl, keeping back a tempest 
 of anguish in order to soothe the overtaxed con- 
 dition of her lover, felt her anguish deepened by 
 renewed consciousness of the man's physical in- 
 abilities. At that moment Mr. Crawford's heavy 
 tread sounded in the hall. 
 
 "Damn him!" muttered Spenser, conscious of 
 being hurled once more into the arena of irremedi- 
 able depressions, while Ellice hastily withdrew 
 her hands from his. 
 
 Crawford came in serene and unsuspicious, look- 
 ing instantly for his hostess. He wanted more 
 than usually to-night to talk to her. After 
 months of amused oscillations, Gillette's uncon- 
 scious influence had thrown off the shoots of a 
 blossom. The vapid content of his life oppressed 
 him every day more; in fact, content was no 
 longer there. Slowly he realized that the whole 
 of his easy, voluptuous past had come about 
 more because it was the kind of life nearest at 
 hand, than from any inherent passion for it. He 
 had been barren ground chiefly because no good 
 seed fell in it to be fertilized, no sower had come 
 to sow. It seemed to him now that the word 
 "soul" had been meaningless to him until he had 
 penetrated into the still recesses of Gillette's na- 
 ture. Then for the first time the incredible beau- 
 ties of the soul along with the soul possibilities
 
 282 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 of human nature had flashed like a gem before his 
 eyes. Ever since he felt that he could at least 
 plead in extenuation of former habits that he 
 had not aspired to the best to a large extent 
 because he had not known it. Once revealed 
 through the matchless power of a pure and brave 
 nature, he had bent acknowledgment to the divine 
 essences abroad in humanity. 
 
 Since he had loved Gillette and he admitted 
 loving her with an exultant pride he had com- 
 menced to select among pleasures. The first re- 
 sult, indeed, of her influence had been, perhaps, 
 to give him a semi-comic hesitation in self-indul- 
 gences. He found himself pulled up, with a reluc- 
 tance he could discern the humor of, in the trivial 
 backslidings of a bored or unthinking moment. 
 Amusement at his own thriving desires for trans- 
 formation continued constantly uppermost; in- 
 deed, he suffered extreme difficulty in taking him- 
 self and his new inclinations seriously. Though 
 he hailed them with delight, he could not feel 
 certain that they were entirely genuine. It ap- 
 peared to him incredible that the farceur of years, 
 the easy-going egoist whose brevity of emotions 
 was notorious, could ever acquire a really stable 
 righteousness. The temperament was too shal- 
 low. This conclusion always discouraged for a 
 time his mobile enthusiasm. Then he would go 
 over to Rook House and gaze with a comic gloom 
 at Gillette until something consoling and ennobling 
 would appear to him to steal from her presence 
 into his soul. Frequently on these occasions he 
 startled her with probing questions only the
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 283 
 
 spiritual force could reply to, making her lay 
 unawares the derisive devils that rose in him to 
 declare incapacity. It was in consequence of her 
 unconscious statements that he decided at last 
 that, if he could never be deep, at least he could 
 be generous. To every nature its own oppor- 
 tunities, and the insignificant could do a great 
 deal if they were hearty. This evening he had 
 come determined frankly to confess to Gillette 
 the inanity of his life, and to implore her advice 
 as to how best to bring a justificatory element 
 into it. He had meant to explain to her that 
 when old he desired to look back upon an exist- 
 ence not wholly useless to his fellow-creatures. 
 
 He no sooner, however, entered the room than 
 a sense of trouble reached him. Ellice, now the 
 soothing smile had faded, looked storm-beaten 
 with anxieties. Her gaze as he entered revealed 
 by itself that he had come into a stricken house- 
 hold. Spenser's expression was rasped. 
 
 "Has anything happened?" 
 
 The question sp:*ang out of him before he had 
 yet had time to formulate a thought. 
 
 "Yes. Sit down, won't you, old man? The 
 truth is, about the most ghastly thing in crea- 
 tion has happened. The child was not well this 
 morning. They sent for the doctor. He came at 
 five, and said the poor little chap is doomed; 
 and his mother knows. The whole business is 
 beyond words!" 
 
 He spoke with a weariness grown to the verge 
 of peevishness, and over Ellice passed the desire 
 to draw his head against her breast and to lull
 
 284 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 it into peace there. Crawford started to his 
 feet. 
 
 "No, not that!" he sbouted as if by violence 
 to thrust away an unbearable contingency. 
 
 Then he stopped, abashed at the noise of his 
 own voice, and slowly took in the breadth of 
 the misfortune told to him. Helplessly, like a 
 man turning weakly to his judges in request for 
 a little mercy, he stared alternately at the two. 
 Ellice did not speak, but rose with a piteous 
 movement as of snapped endurance. Crawford, 
 afraid she meant to go out of the room, seized 
 her arm impetuously. 
 
 "Mrs. Spenser how does she bear it?" 
 
 Ellice uttered a sobbing sigh. She answered 
 afterward almost in a whisper, dreading the effect 
 of any reiteration of what had passed upon 
 Spenser. He had gone to the window, and, with 
 a hand upon the drawn-back curtain, was look- 
 ing aimlessly into the night. With a rush of 
 words she told Crawford the whole scene of the 
 afternoon. After the first phrase it eased her. 
 She gave him, in the deeply inbitten freshness 
 of her impression, a living picture of Gillette's 
 consummate agony, tlie interminable horror of 
 her long, devouring silence, the heart-breaking 
 sweetness of her return to actual surroundings. 
 
 Her own voice had a throbbing music as she 
 spoke, and through it Crawford lived with her 
 every minute, from the blade-like cry to Mrs. Sin- 
 clair, to the moving beauty of the words, "For- 
 give me," when the heart torn piecemeal yet 
 gasped out only what was tender and good.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 285 
 
 And he felt tired and sick himself with the force 
 of his own sensations when Ellice ceased speaking. 
 Suffering so awful that it could find ease in no 
 cry, no gesture, no blind or incoherent struggle, 
 was a fact Crawford encountered for the first 
 time. His fat face grew colorless, and the cheeks 
 looked to bag with a sudden collapsed looseness. 
 "Thank you; I think I will go now," he mut- 
 tered as Ellice finished, and went out of the house 
 stunned by knowledge of a misery inconceivable 
 until that moment.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 Three days later, coming to inquire how both 
 mother and child fared, Crawford met Gillette 
 herself in the garden. She was carrying her baby. 
 All one saw of her burden, however, was the long 
 white shawl he had been wrapped in, and a trans- 
 parent net veil, whose lace edge fluttered in the 
 tremulous, light wind. The nurse sat in a wicker 
 chair on the lawn, waiting till the mother's arms 
 were willing to surrender the light form they 
 held. Mrs. Sinclair and Ellice remained with her, 
 knowing Gillette at this time grateful to be left 
 undisturbed. 
 
 Crawford noticed in passing the utter weariness 
 of the attitude both women had fallen into. But 
 as he came toward them he caught sight of Gil- 
 lette, and stopped in bewilderment. In her pres- 
 ence he felt both conscious of a sense of intru- 
 sion and also of a certain timidity. The dearth 
 of any power to console bowed him to the earth 
 with grief and humility. And as she came slowly 
 toward him he felt his limbs weaken at being 
 allowed a place in so beautiful and sacred a 
 tragedy. 
 
 "Mrs. Spenser, do I intrude trouble you? 
 Would you rather I went away?" 
 
 He felt like a floundering elephant, preposter- 
 ous and colossal. 
 
 Gillette looked up at him, the sadness of her
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 287 
 
 face relieved for a second by the old living smile 
 of welcome. 
 
 "No; it gives me pleasure to see you, when 
 you care to come." 
 
 By tacit consent they walked on side by side 
 along the gravel walk, where the laburnums and 
 lilac and crimson rhododendrons flung into the 
 air their delicate, moving enticements. Crawford 
 felt compressed with too much feeling; but he 
 dared not speak. He wanted to ask if the child 
 were better. The question paralyzed his tongue. 
 All his system itched, moreover, to tell her she 
 was not utterly alone in this trouble others 
 mourned in sympathy; but it appeared a species 
 of presumption. What was his participation to 
 her? And they turned at the end of the sunny 
 path to retrace their steps, without having ex- 
 changed a word since their gentle greeting. 
 
 "Mrs. Spenser, you know what it feels like when 
 you can't help some one -who is suffering, and 
 whom you care for. I would pour the blood 
 out of my veins if it could bring you happiness!" 
 
 It gushed out of him before he knew what he 
 had said. He had no sooner spoken than he 
 tugged nervously at the leaves of the trees as 
 they passed, strewing the path with them. His 
 colossal form helped to oppress him. He felt him- 
 self a monstrosity, towering grotesquely in her 
 fragrant desolation. Directly the words had es- 
 caped he could have bitten his tongue out with 
 regret. A selfish commonplace had been thrust 
 like a shaken fist at her gentleness. She did not 
 answer immediately. A spot of red crept into
 
 288 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 her cheeks and out again, and she looked down 
 at the face concealed behind the net that flowed 
 from against her heart almost to the ground. 
 
 "Mr. Crawford, I have happiness. Though I 
 cannot now but grieve" he felt the sob she 
 mastered "it is only selfishly for myself. Be- 
 low there is happiness that he will never weep 
 our earthly tears never know pain, or sorrow, 
 or sin. God in His goodness has spared my baby 
 the discipline of life. I do not know how to 
 let go but now I have learned to feel for all 
 mothers. This love is taken, perhaps, that there 
 should be more love to give to others." She 
 paused, trembling visibly. Then she added, still 
 lower: "It is not what happens that makes life 
 miserable. Only we by our thoughts do that." 
 
 The fluttering of her heart forced her to stop 
 speaking. Never, except to Ellice, had she ever 
 given a revelation torn so deep out of herself. 
 But Crawford's sympathy had the burning sin- 
 cerity that compels an answering truth ; she could 
 not but respond involuntarily. 
 
 Crawford walked on in silence, confused by the 
 vision of inward beauty given to him. Every 
 moment, moreover, he craved more and more to 
 throw off the weight of his secret love, to tell 
 her of its pureness, its simplicity, its depths, that 
 in her goodness she might keep him always a 
 little place in her thoughts and life. In the end 
 he could contain it no longer. Still clutching rest- 
 lessly at the trees as they passed, he discharged 
 suddenly the emotions choking within him, turn- 
 ing his mental conditions inside out for her bene-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 289 
 
 fit. He was in the middle, gesticulating a little 
 with one large red hand, when Ellice and the 
 nurse came toward them. Instantly reaction set 
 in, and he reviled himself and them. 
 
 "Gillette dear, your mother wants you to sit 
 down. Mr. Crawford, won't you persuade her? 
 She has been walking a long time. And, sweet, 
 your arms must be tired. Let me take baby for 
 a little while. You will be ill, if you disregard 
 all orders." 
 
 To hear Ellice endear Gillette was to Crawford 
 like a desecration. He suspected too much not 
 to regard Miss Bastien's friendly attitude to the 
 woman she deceived as disgusting. 
 
 "Shall / take baby, mum?" 
 
 "No, no; he is asleep, thank you, nurse. I will 
 sit down, but he is not heavy. My arms feel no 
 weight at all." 
 
 Over her mouth passed the smile that comes 
 only from a refusal of tears, a smile that on the 
 ugliest face has an irresistible grace and pathos. 
 Crawford longed to seize her poor hands and 
 weep his sympathy over them, as a libation 
 poured upon a sacred shrine. 
 
 Ellice and the nurse turned back, while he and 
 Gillette moved to a high-back garden-seat, made 
 of wood, and newly painted white, which was 
 set in a natural recess at the end of the path. 
 Fir-trees backed it with sombre green, but on 
 either side rhododendrons covered in red flowers 
 flung sweet color about them. Mrs. Sinclair, 
 watching the two sit side by side, commented 
 to Ellice on the benefit Gillette's liking to Craw- 
 19
 
 290 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 ford was. If he only took her thoughts for a 
 few minutes from the coming trouble, it must 
 give the poor overtaxed brain a rest. 
 
 Ellice assented wearily. When Spenser was ab- 
 sent, the jaded condition of her mind, no longer 
 desperately controlled, gave itself the sorry ease 
 of frankness, and she felt night and day as if too 
 much trouble had sucked blood out of her. On a 
 mad morning mad with the young audacious 
 voice of spring she had made a promise that 
 ever since had been like sharp teeth tearing at 
 her brain. That it had ever taken place except 
 as a playful concession to the ecstasy of a garden 
 in May was incredible. It had been but the 
 rounding note to the throbbing murmur of the 
 flowers and birds and scented atmosphere, drawn 
 out of a soul that, like the spring itself, had 
 known the heart-sick chill of a long, long winter. 
 A few minutes in the house, and everything was 
 already repudiated. The future proposed, rosy 
 and heart-filling out there in the sun, shrivelled 
 in the house to its old hideousness of aspect. 
 There was no happiness in it. How could there 
 be, when remorse and pity stood ready to destroy 
 each germ of peace as it arose? 
 
 The overtopping disaster that had ended the 
 day had at first seemed in this much, at least, 
 to help her, in that it wiped out the very ground- 
 work of the pitiable consent. "She has the child," 
 was the phrase Spenser had conquered with. 
 Upon that she had yielded. The new calamity 
 fallen upon the woman to be betrayed and aban- 
 doned, however, tore away the balance of well-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 291 
 
 being. Gillette, without the child, stood destitute 
 of comfort, pierced in her pride, in her trust, in 
 her love, in her lifelong friendship. Practically, 
 they left her denuded of everything. But Ellice, 
 gasping for an hour or two with relief at a horri- 
 ble danger avoided, learnt within a day of the doc- 
 tor's verdict that nothing could permanently de- 
 stroy Spenser's determination to escape with her. 
 Regardless of the child's condition, his eyes pursued 
 her with a look alarming in its indiscretion. The 
 evening before, as she held her hand out to him 
 before retiring, her blood had chilled at the look 
 riveted upon her face. Had he shouted, "I keep 
 you to your promise," the publicity, she felt, 
 would have been but very little greater. As she 
 sat by Mrs. Sinclair in the sun, this incident was 
 uppermost. Cruel and inexorable, Spenser had 
 not only the strength of his sex against the weak- 
 ness of her love, but the added power of his forty 
 years of ill-health and disillusion. 
 
 "How absurd it is always to judge by actions ! 
 It is the thoughts that make character, not one's 
 puppet-like actions," she exclaimed suddenly, 
 speaking in weakly distress, irrelevantly to Mrs. 
 Sinclair, whose watery eyes never left the figure on 
 the distant seat, with its burden of shapeless white. 
 
 "What did you say, my dear?" she asked, not 
 having heard a word the other uttered. 
 
 "Oh, nothing," Ellice replied wearily, far from 
 knowing that a few minutes earlier Gillette had 
 given utterance to much the same idea that it 
 is in the spirit a man's life dwells, and that it is 
 in the thoughts created by it, and not in external
 
 292 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 incidents, that the real essence of any human ex- 
 istence abides. 
 
 At that moment Gillette and Crawford rose 
 from the seat between the rhododendron bushes. 
 The sun no longer fell there, and it was from the 
 sun the poor mother still in the recesses of her 
 heart hoped beneficent things might come. 
 
 Crawford had emptied himself of secrets, asking 
 for counsel how from now onward to make his 
 conduct condone the vapid past. But to his ques- 
 tion, "What shall I do?" Gillette had no fortify- 
 ing answer lying ready on the tongue. On the 
 contrary, the demand made her feel stupid and 
 bewildered. She, so weak and erring, how could 
 she presume to advise another? Yet one thing 
 she knew could lift life above the storms he spoke 
 of the storms of disillusion, boredom, disgust, 
 and loneliness to ask nothing for one's self, and 
 to keep steadfast in the endeavor to bring others 
 help and happiness. A life blameless of harm to 
 others could not but be sweet-smelling and fresh, 
 as linen newly washed. 
 
 Crawford saw by her face that she thought 
 deeply. 
 
 "Don't try to think now," he said hastily; 
 "another time we can talk again. Very likely 
 you'll make me see something to do, one day 
 when you are not meaning to. And, Mrs. Spen- 
 ser, you'll forgive me for telling you all this, 
 won't you? I love you beyond all words. I 
 would give anything if you could be my sister. 
 But you do feel as a friend to me, don't you 
 you feel that I am a friend?"
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 293 
 
 He was conscious of the egoism of his appeal 
 without being able to resist it ; but Gillette gave 
 him undivided attention, and prayed as she sat 
 there that she might be shown how to help this 
 friend, who for all his round, smiling face seemed 
 in such sore need of comfort. 
 
 "Mr. Crawford," she replied, still in answer to 
 his previous request for counsel, "I only know 
 one thing, and it sounds incongruous, but it is 
 not minding about one's own happiness at all. 
 People say now that one's duties are primarily 
 to one's self to one's individuality. They con- 
 demn self-sacrifice ; but please do not believe that. 
 I know so little, but this I know : only by sacri- 
 fice can real happiness come. I mean by giving 
 up for others, by thinking how to give pleasure, 
 and then the happiness is so great a person 
 might almost grow afraid. It is so much." She 
 stopped, and then, after a pause, added more 
 timidly: "Thank you for asking me to be your 
 friend. I hope we shall always be that now." 
 
 It was the shy, half-childish answer of a very 
 young girl ; but to Crawford some of the charm 
 of Gillette's utterances arose from their total 
 lack of accomplished manner. To him everything 
 she said was like running water in a quiet pas- 
 toral country, where the sky rose a great arch 
 never wholly out of one's vision. She brought 
 the sky always before his eyes. Her present an- 
 swer, moreover, entered into his spirit like a holy 
 benediction. He murmured again under his 
 breath : 
 
 "If I could only help you!"
 
 294 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 "Thank you," replied Gillette, but with lips that 
 trembled once more. She pressed the white shape 
 in her arms a little closer. Then they rose and 
 walked in silence up and down the gravel walk 
 once more.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 For another five weeks the heartrending drama 
 continued. And as no great change marked each 
 succeeding day, the tension throughout the house 
 grew, till each one of them felt as if death slowly 
 outlined itself as a palpable presence among them, 
 looming vague and immense in every room. At 
 last, only the stricken mother could resist a long- 
 ing that the blow would fall quickly. To wait 
 and wait for a death inevitable, but lingering at 
 every step, contained a horror surpassing all final- 
 ity. Every day, also, some piteous incident oc- 
 curred to wring their hearts. The child suffered, 
 and Gillette's expression exhausted the very on- 
 lookers with pity. On the other hand, he would 
 show signs of a feeble rallying, when her irresist- 
 ible grasp of hope, to those who knew the end 
 inflexibly determined, was as pain-giving as her 
 despair. 
 
 "Oh, mother," she said once, shedding for glad- 
 ness the first tears they had seen upon her face, 
 "he is getting better. A child who laughs and 
 cooes is never dangerously ill." 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair replied without clear knowledge 
 of what she said, and, in repeating the brief 
 scene to Ellice and Spenser afterward, exclaimed 
 that her brain would snap if the strain continued 
 much longer. 
 
 But none knew, though Crawford gradually
 
 296 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 suspected something of it, that Gillette bore a 
 double misery at this time. In the first few hours 
 of shock she had forgotten, or at any rate had 
 ceased to realize, the scene enacted in the garden. 
 But slowly, with a sinister surety, it had crept 
 back into its former place in her mind. As she 
 sat by her child's cradle, or walked with him in 
 her arms, this impression of a double calamity 
 would arise and over-whelm her. She grew afraid 
 sometimes of her reason foundering under the 
 pressure put upon it. 
 
 Every day her manner to Spenser and Ellice 
 grew involuntarily more hesitating, for every day 
 little symptoms arose to heap coals upon her re- 
 luctant understanding. Through all the preoc- 
 cupation of her private grief, there could not but 
 penetrate many signs to assist comprehension. 
 When they spoke to one another at last, she ex- 
 perienced a fright nothing seemed to make reason- 
 able. At the same time, their silences grew to 
 her equally ominous. What were they thinking 
 of, then? Their desire to live frankly and freely? 
 In the eyes of both, now she knew their secret, 
 she saw restlessness grow incessantly. They sel- 
 dom sat still when they were in the same room. 
 The furtive longing to find some excuse to get 
 away together was so powerful an emanation 
 Gillette felt it reach even to her. With intuitive 
 sympathy she more than once found the words 
 upon her tongue that would give them a facile 
 reason for going together into the garden or 
 another room. Then she would be horror-stricken 
 at her own tacit connivance. She saw the love,
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 397 
 
 the pain, the wearying suppression, of their days, 
 and in her simpleness frequently forgot that this 
 love was equally treacherous and wrong. 
 
 Whenever it flashed upon her, she had a period 
 of sick perplexity, of spasmodic, inexplicable ter- 
 ror. In long, absorbed prayers she would then 
 plead Ellice's case before the compassion of her 
 Lord. She explained to Him how love came in 
 a human heart unknown and against inclination ; 
 also its awful strength, and the misery Ellice had 
 suffered. Overflowing with love for her friend, 
 she prayed to be sacrificed in any fashion if in 
 that way help might be given to these two, and 
 in her night vigils, beside the uneasy cradle of her 
 son, she poured out endless petitions, not for his 
 life that she had already given into the Divine 
 care of the Christ who had said "Suffer little 
 children to come unto Me" but for Ellice, and 
 for this disastrous, unblessed affection. 
 
 In this unchanging distress, the days drew on 
 to the supreme climax. And as if the two blows 
 were always to fall together, it was during the 
 last hours of the child's fading existence that Gil- 
 lette attained complete vision of the inevitable 
 crisis to the tragedy being enacted side by side 
 with this other in the house. She did not learn 
 it like the rest by any action of either ; it came 
 to her through a look she had seen in Spenser's 
 eyes as he had said good-night at the door of 
 her bedroom. Accustomed to the pity resident 
 in them during the past few weeks, she had 
 noticed suddenly an expression of sullen antagon- 
 ism. She felt that he hated her. Why? As she
 
 298 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 slipped out of her clothes into her cool night- 
 gown, she could still fancy his eyes looking at 
 her with the same exasperated hate, and below 
 this hate some growing hostile intention. Far 
 into the night she sought uselessly an explanation 
 for this new inimical purpose, until finally, with 
 a smothered cry, she saw not only the meaning 
 of Spenser's expression, but the full extent of 
 the danger every hour almost intensified. Spen- 
 ser wanted Ellice at any cost, and Ellice what 
 would Ellice do? In extreme agony Gillette 
 crouched on the floor by her child's bassinette, 
 hiding her face in her hands, while she strove to 
 feel assured that Ellice remained safe, secure in 
 the strength of her own beautiful nature. It 
 seemed as if the brain stretched with the effort 
 made to bring forth this clear conviction. And 
 then low, despairingly, with a sadness infinite in 
 its vanquishment, Gillette groaned as she had 
 never done for the child God had asked back of 
 her. 
 
 For, oh, God! she did not know what Ellice 
 would do. Abruptly the sickening danger of the 
 girl's position flowed over her. She grasped 
 everything: the fight her husband would never 
 relinquish, never relax, that not even this tragic 
 death could temporarily extinguish, and Ellice's 
 entrenchments as they fell one by one, beaten 
 down by a fury of desire at last irresistible. 
 
 The atrocity of the condition one weak mo- 
 ment might bring about for this girl fell like 
 stones on Gillette's heart. Was there nothing 
 she could do? Die? She would have died with-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 299 
 
 out a thought had suicide been anything more 
 than another sin piled uselessly upon the other. 
 For she knew Ellice well enough to know at 
 least that such a death would but be like a 
 sword-thrust henceforward between Spenser and 
 herself. 
 
 "Oh, my God," she prayed, "keep Ellice's soul 
 from sin; dear Lord, keep this dear soul from 
 sin." 
 
 Next morning her haggard appearance alarmed 
 them all. The moment breakfast was over she 
 rose and left the room. 
 
 "The boy is worse, and she knows it," said 
 Mrs. Sinclair sadly to the other two. "She looks 
 deathly; I daren't say a word, for I think she 
 couldn't bear it. Poor child, poor child!" 
 
 There was no answer. During breakfast Ellice 
 had experienced a disturbing sense of a change 
 toward her personally in Gillette's manner. It 
 was neither reproach nor hostility. She could 
 express the impression only by saying that, in 
 spite of an increase in trouble, the other had ab- 
 stained from all the mute, silent appeals for sym- 
 pathy instinctive between the two. Gillette had 
 deliberately looked at her once only, and then her 
 gaze had been more frightened than anything; 
 there had been absolutely no intimacy in it. 
 
 Like little burning flames fitful terrors rose in 
 the girl's mind. Had Gillette seen anything or 
 heard? Had a dire suspicion come to her at 
 last? Spenser and she had only been alone a few 
 seconds the day before, on the stone steps out- 
 side the morning-room. But he had whispered,
 
 300 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 "I love you I love you," with a feverish reitera- 
 tion that might have carried the -words into the 
 room behind them. In it Gillette -was -writing a 
 few brief letters. Could she have heard? The 
 bare idea -was insupportable. 
 
 Ellice rose and went upstairs. If Gillette knew 
 anything, alone -with her it could not but fling 
 itself out in impassioned reproach or en- 
 treaty. 
 
 Gillette -was in the nursery, and her first sen- 
 tence dispersed suspicion. It breathed out tender- 
 ness, and Ellice drew air into her lungs with a 
 deep sigh of gratitude. Yet at the end of the day 
 disquietude had returned; Gillette was not the 
 same as yesterday. Through all the deepening 
 gloom that grew hour by hour, as hour by hour 
 the little flicker of life in its foam-like cradle less- 
 ened, the change in Gillette's manner remained 
 conspicuous. From Mrs. Sinclair Ellice learnt 
 that again and again, when she was not with her, 
 Gillette inquired, "Where is Ellice?" while never 
 in her presence had the other seemed to need her 
 less. Indeed, her manner betrayed a sense of dis- 
 comfort and nervousness quite incomprehensible 
 without the explanation Ellice, for very endur- 
 ance' sake, dared not give to it. 
 
 Nevertheless, it was the true one. She was no 
 sooner out of sight than Gillette shivered with 
 nameless fears. She saw her -with Spenser, felt 
 him draw her literally by the hands out of the 
 house. She, Gillette, knew the force of his per- 
 suasive phrases, had melted herself like a little 
 candle through their power. And Ellice, who
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 301 
 
 prayed no prayers for help, how could she with- 
 stand? They would go on, these cries of yearning, 
 till she was like a vessel full of nothing else ; they 
 would fall like snow, like flakes that come and 
 come and come, bewildering, endless. In the end, 
 smothered by them, the girl would grow numbed 
 and stupefied. She would go, no longer able to 
 feel or see for the flakes or whirling mist about 
 her weary, blinded person. 
 
 And this would be the death of a soul, not of a 
 mere body whose spirit the Lord had garnered. 
 Oh ! to think that Ellice, so sweet and soft, should 
 know henceforward no beautiful, blameless quiet, 
 hold no more the peace that passeth understand- 
 ing. She saw her, during her tortured visions, 
 bleeding from the stones cast by a society more 
 sinning than herself, with a face worn and old by 
 desire for the innocence none could give her back. 
 Poor outcast ! broken on the wheel of a dream, 
 the dream of ignorance and inexperience. 
 
 For two more days her double anguish contin- 
 ued. Slowly the child sank, moaning feebly for 
 a pain unknown. Night and day the room re- 
 mained in semi-darkness. The little life had re- 
 treated beyond the visible light so far that the 
 sun's rays in his room would have been unbear- 
 able. Toward the evening of the second day his 
 pulse was no longer perceptible. The nurse placed 
 a hand upon the tiny body it was like ice. Be- 
 fore she could speak, Gillette, standing upon the 
 opposite side of the bassinette, laid her own there 
 also. Her face turned ash-colored. She tried to 
 speak; the words were soundless. Slowly she
 
 302 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 lifted the chill body into her arms, staring at it as 
 if wild and hungry for the sight. 
 
 For a long while she held it passionately in her 
 arms. Finally the nurse whispered to Ellice: 
 
 "He is dead ! Won't you take Mrs. Spenser 
 away? The child is quite dead." 
 
 "Dead? No, my child is not dead! My baby 
 has gone to heaven, where he will never sin, never 
 have a sin upon his soul! Oh, Lord, into Thy 
 keeping I commend his spirit!" 
 
 She spoke with a cry that might any moment 
 have grown into a scream. As it was, its pitiful 
 wildness showed the nearness of insanity. 
 
 "She is going to faint!" exclaimed Ellice, rush- 
 ing forward with the nurse. They pushed her 
 into a chair and took the inanimate form out of 
 her arms. 
 
 For a second she stared desperately at them, 
 then suddenly rose to her feet again with a shriek 
 that tore through everything, as if a living agony 
 were making its maddened escape from her: 
 
 "Oh, God! Thy will be " 
 
 Before she could finish she fell face downward 
 before the dead body lying rigid in the nurse's 
 arms.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 During the days that followed she continued 
 stunned, only narrowly escaping brain-fever. For 
 hours after being brought to she lay in a state of 
 stupor, making no effort to see the little body so 
 carefully got ready for her, as if prepared for some 
 living ceremonial. They had dreaded an insistent 
 refusal to leave the room where the tiny corpse 
 lay. But she seemed not even aware of what had 
 occurred, neither speaking of the child nor making 
 an effort to see him. Mrs. Sinclair had been 
 warned, however, that at any moment this merci- 
 ful stupor might lift. And on the following even- 
 ing, almost exactly at the time the little life had 
 passed away on the previous day, she suddenly 
 lifted her head, and said to her mother, sitting 
 patiently by the bed: 
 
 "I want to pray by my baby. I have much to 
 pray for and I am tired. God will have mercy, 
 won't He, if I forget some things? God is mercy 
 but, oh, I should be praying now praying all 
 the time ! Only prayer can save and I have not 
 prayed since ' ' 
 
 She spoke in low, disjointed phrases. Visibly 
 the mind was not yet under control. Mrs. Sin- 
 clair considered her half delirious. To thwart her, 
 however, would, she feared, only increase excite- 
 ment, and, with considerable common-sense, she
 
 304 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 said she should go and see her baby if she wished, 
 so beautiful, so unmistakably at peace. Only she 
 must not stay, for she (Gillette) was very far 
 from well again. To pray just now for any 
 length of time would endanger her life. 
 
 Gillette looked at her piteously, and got out of 
 bed repeating, in a dazed undertone : 
 
 "I must pray; only prayer can save." 
 
 When they entered the room, already a sea of 
 flowers flowing in waves about the lacy bed, as if 
 for some virginal, sacred festival, Ellice and Spen- 
 ser -were standing by the snowy cot. 
 
 The day before Spenser had refused to go into 
 the chamber of death. He had never seen a dead 
 body, and the mere idea of gazing upon anything 
 so loathsome to him flung him in a bath of 
 sweat. He would see death if he did every day of 
 his life be dead practically before his time. All he 
 looked at afterward would be intercepted by this 
 dead body. At any moment some pleasant living 
 thing God knows what might by the diabolical 
 twist of association bring up this hideous death 
 he abhorred, and which he desired so passionately 
 to give no thought to until the last inevitable 
 moment. 
 
 But gradually this dead child commenced to 
 draw him by an awful fascination. A horrible 
 curiosity slowly possessed him to know the worst, 
 to look this worm-worshipped death boldly in the 
 face, and see if fear could not be brazened into 
 subjection. Before the afternoon ended the desire 
 had become a necessity. He could not continue 
 with the lifeless thing in the house and not see it.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 305 
 
 Like a sinister will bent hour by hour to force his 
 own into surrender, his dead son beat upon 
 his nerves. Breathing hard, he had waited until 
 Ellice was about to take a freshly arrived wreath 
 into the room, and then said brusquely: 
 
 "I must go in there, too, and see him; but I 
 can't go alone. Take me, Ellice." 
 
 He clutched at her hand as they entered. Only 
 by retaining hold of her warm, abounding life did 
 he feel capable of fulfilling his purpose, and of 
 looking his enemy at last in the face. Without 
 Ellice to seize afterward, without Ellice to drink 
 in visually the moment he had turned away once 
 more, disgust would probably annihilate him. 
 
 The first impression upon the threshold was the 
 overpowering sweetness exhaling from the flowers 
 strewn over a sheet upon the floor; his second, 
 repulsion at the whiteness that lay heaped in cold 
 profusion about the shell-shaped bassinette. Why 
 on earth not have disguised dreariness by a mass 
 of color? There were roses enough, and this 
 blank whiteness chilled one's blood. They went 
 up to the cot. If it had stood by itself, Spenser 
 felt imagination might have been lulled by it into 
 an illusion of kindly, simple sleep. This barricade 
 of blanched blossoms drove death's presence into 
 one's breast with a tactless bravado. 
 
 Ellice drew back the lace and muslin curtains. 
 
 "He looks beautiful!" she said, for which sen- 
 tence Spenser, though but for a second, could have 
 shaken her. A phrase like that was part of the 
 lying conventionalism of a death-chamber. Ellice 
 at least ought to have been above it. But as she 
 20
 
 306 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 held aside the white hangings, with a last strug- 
 gle against reluctance he looked down at the still 
 form resting on the coverlet of lace. 
 
 Surprise shook him from head to foot. He 
 gazed at a tiny wax doll, grotesque through its 
 littleness in all the elaborate paraphernalia of woe 
 surrounding it. Had it ever been alive, this curi- 
 ous waxen image? Nothing repulsive appertained 
 to it, because also nothing human. There was 
 nothing to shrink from, because nothing remained 
 to bespeak a life at all. The infinitesimal face, 
 and infinitesimal hands folded peacefully upon the 
 tiny breast, gave the appearance of being carved 
 in a delicate shade of ivory. Not for a second did 
 one receive the shock of gazing upon a face out of 
 which all human qualities have been abruptly 
 expunged a face familiar alive, and seen suddenly 
 dead, empty, waiting hideously for the hands of 
 corruption. 
 
 Spenser's relief was so great he could not speak, 
 continuing to stare down at the shrunken little 
 form as if his enemy had suddenly fallen under his 
 feet. In truth, he told himself, if this was death, 
 it was not an event to cringe under ; on the con- 
 trary, for the weariness of old age, actually an 
 excellent institution. 
 
 At that moment Gillette and her mother entered 
 the room. Gillette no sooner saw her husband 
 and Ellice together than a look of agitation came 
 into her face. 
 
 "Not here you must not come in here!" she 
 said, with a trembling violence only Ellice com- 
 prehended. To Spenser and Mrs. Sinclair she
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 307 
 
 spoke from an intelligence temporarily submerged. 
 "I must pray," she continued more gently, and 
 the look she gave them was touching in its ap- 
 peal, so clear gleamed the unuttered statement 
 made that it was a soul in which only sorrow 
 remained intact. "Leave me," she said again, as 
 they merely stood aside to let her pass. They 
 dared not, however, all go, aware that at any 
 moment she might again fall unconscious. Mrs. 
 Sinclair therefore remained by the window. 
 
 For a long while Gillette gazed motionless at 
 her dead son. Then she looked, as if in surprise, 
 at all the scented flowers laid about him, and 
 wearily dropped upon her knees. She prayed in 
 silence, but moaning now and again. When she 
 had knelt some time, Mrs. Sinclair went over to 
 persuade her back to bed. 
 
 A little wail shuddered out of her, but after a 
 second she rose obediently. Once more she laid 
 her white face against the other she had sur- 
 rendered so meekly. Her lips moved, whispering 
 unheard the last endearments of her motherhood. 
 Then she moved quietly away, not one of them 
 knowing that she had been robbed even of the 
 slender consolation that, but for her husband and 
 Ellice, could still have been hers, the peace to 
 mourn, the quiet of mind to feel the sacredness of 
 grief utterly holy. For they had torn her, with 
 their sinful, ugly drama, even from the tears of 
 her child's white death-chamber, sullying with an 
 appalling anxiety the hours that, for all their 
 anguish, might yet have held many beneficent 
 thoughts.
 
 308 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Not even her despair had been left unstained by 
 them. Here, kneeling by her child's bassinette, in 
 the place now hallowed to her, she had not even 
 leisure to give grief way. She must think pre- 
 eminently for them think and pray to find some 
 means to save. All day she must keep her mind 
 on the tragedy that was not ended, that perhaps 
 God would grant her to prevent. Truly they had 
 overtopped her brain with misery ; she must rest 
 to think. As she passed them on her way to the 
 bed-room, she caught hold of one of Ellice's hands. 
 She dropped it the moment after, but with un- 
 precedented excitement murmured to her mother : 
 
 "Look after Ellice while I rest. I want her to 
 stay with you." 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair soothed her with instant assent, 
 while the tears gushed into her eyes. Even in her 
 extremity, thought the elder woman, she lived for 
 others, remembering the dreariness of such a 
 house for her friend, a young girl as yet untried 
 in sorrows. 
 
 Ellice's face had whitened. 
 
 "She suspects something," she said to Spenser, 
 as Gillette's door closed behind her and Mrs. 
 Sinclair. 
 
 "Good God, child! what nonsense! Don't, for 
 pity's sake, dear, let us harbor any more morbid 
 thoughts. Come downstairs and have some tea." 
 
 "No, no! I hate you!" 
 
 Before he could answer, she had gone at a run 
 along the corridor. He heard the key turn in the 
 door of her bedroom. 
 
 Spenser felt jarred by this unexpected display of
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 309 
 
 hysteria. Ellice's withdrawal, moreover, left him 
 undefended against depression. Nevertheless, for 
 her he had sympathy. That she had withstood 
 so long was to her credit. 
 
 On the following afternoon, in blazing sunlight, 
 to the song of birds and under a blazing sky, 
 little Patrick Spenser was buried. Of the brief life 
 that had been a miracle to the heart of its mother, 
 nothing remained by sunset but a piled-up mass 
 of flowers, themselves already fading and yellow. 
 
 Gillette was not present at the funeral. She sat 
 all day in an armchair by the side of her bed, 
 never making a voluntary movement, never open- 
 ine her lips except to answer her mother's en- 
 treaties.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 It was several days after the funeral before 
 Gillette went again into the nursery, desiring 
 supremely to be there alone. She found, however, 
 nothing touched. The empty cradle stood in its 
 usual place ; the covered basket, with its little sil- 
 ver brushes and powder-box, remained by the fire. 
 Only throughout the room were sprays of snow- 
 white flowers, placed by Ellice for fear the 
 mother's poor heart might break at the new look 
 of vacancy the room had -worn after the little 
 body ceased to rest in it. 
 
 Slowly Gillette turned away from the void 
 cradle, unable to sustain the thoughts called up. 
 She went to the chest of drawers in which were 
 folded all the little garments of the dead child. 
 For the first time on the previous day, while sort- 
 ing them for the nurse to put away, tears had 
 fallen from her eyes. To-day she gazed a little, 
 and then shut the drawers again. The unrest 
 hourly increasing did not hold even her baby's 
 room sacred : it intruded here. 
 
 "I have no child, no husband, and Ellice's soul, 
 dear God, I know not how to save Ellice's soul 
 and future peace." 
 
 She could not remain in the room. Driven from 
 it by a bewildered need of action, she walked 
 slowly downstairs. It was the first time since the 
 child's death she had gone beyond his room. The
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 311 
 
 library door was open. She went in, conscious 
 that the familiar aspect of the house held curious 
 power to wound. Dear God ! it was so unaltered, 
 and yet every life in it was seared and wounded. 
 Frightened by a return of pain at her heart, she 
 went over to the fireplace, and leaned her fore- 
 head upon the cool of the marble mantelpiece. 
 
 "Ellice, come here. Girl, I am ill; come to me." 
 
 Gillette stood upright in an instant. From the 
 music-room Spenser's voice reached to her, 
 charged with an intensity of feeling she had not 
 known it capable of. In spite of the tone of com- 
 mand, it was sick with desire and pain. 
 
 "Dear, have pity. I can't I love Gillette." 
 
 All the supplication of Ellice's voice travelled, 
 still quivering with its weakness, into the heart of 
 the woman who overheard. 
 
 "Oh, how she suffers! and she spoke my name 
 in love. The word 'Gillette' fell from her like a 
 heart-broken sigh. But she sues to him for pity 
 as a child to a powerful master. She has no 
 strength in herself to resist. Oh, my poor Ellice ! 
 and she loves me." 
 
 The unexpected assurance that the girl was still 
 in one sense true to her, and had not woven her 
 web of deceit in cold-blooded indifference, was a 
 fact exquisitely sweet to learn. It kept the friend 
 she loved intact, and Gillette drew one short 
 breath of thankfulness that at least she had never 
 allowed her personal wrongs to bring about a 
 false conception of Ellice. 
 
 All this passed with the swiftness of lightning. 
 She had thought it before the brief silence that
 
 312 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 followed Ellice's words had terminated. Then the 
 silence itself gripped her imagination. Why did he 
 not speak? Had Ellice gone across to him, drawn 
 by the fathomless need of his voice? Were his 
 arms at last satisfied? The silence grew horrible. 
 Gillette also felt shame permeate her, for what 
 was she doing there? They thought themselves 
 alone, and she listened with every nerve of hearing 
 strained. But could she do otherwise? This was 
 her husband and her friend, and every word they 
 uttered tore at the essences of her life. Besides, 
 she must learn how to help. At any cost to her- 
 self, it had become imperative to save the soul 
 that cried so piteously for mercy and found none. 
 
 They were still silent. Gillette put a hand on 
 the back of a chair to help herself from the room. 
 Suddenly Spenser's voice penetrated to her again. 
 He spoke without connection. The links that 
 joined the last audible speech to this had been 
 forged, evidently, in the silence. 
 
 "Oh, if she were only a woman one could di- 
 vorce ! I am a brute, but you know I would give 
 anything in the world to marry you." 
 
 "Don't, George; I cannot bear it." 
 
 Again the thin, suffering notes came from the 
 girl ; but he continued, as if annoyed by the inter- 
 ruption : 
 
 "You must give in at last, or kill me. In a 
 month shall I fetch you? She will be over the 
 shock of the child's death by then. She has her 
 good works and her money. And I shall make 
 you happy you know it. To you, Ellice, I can 
 be good. You even make me feel tenderly sweet."
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 313 
 
 Gillette did not hear the latter part of his state- 
 ment. At the words, "You must give in, or kill 
 me," instinctive horror for the very atmosphere 
 she breathed drove her from the room. She made 
 no sound on the thick carpet. They heard noth- 
 ing as she went back into the darkened coolness 
 of her bedroom. 
 
 Once there, she stood resting with her hands on 
 the dressing-table. 
 
 "Oh, if she were only a woman one could di- 
 vorce!" 
 
 The brutality of it fell like blows. Gillette stood 
 giddy with them. She had been his wife, the 
 mother of his child ; all that was in her power she 
 had done to serve him, and none of it had touched 
 even the surface. Not the vilest thing, if it only 
 gave him freedom, was too bad to wish her. He 
 could desire her, his wife, to be evil and outcast ; 
 be glad of her shame, since it would make him 
 able to marry Ellice. Gillette grew dizzy, all the 
 power of her compassion impotent to understand 
 this. 
 
 "Oh, if she were only a woman one could di- 
 vorce!" 
 
 Dear Lord ! there was a way, then? There was 
 one way, and she had not thought of it divorce. 
 If he were divorced, George would marry Ellice. 
 Gillette possessed no religious scruples against 
 the marriage of divorced persons. Christ had 
 said that in heaven there was "no marriage nor 
 giving in marriage." Therefore it was evidently 
 only a state instituted for the exigencies of a hu- 
 man existence. Widowers and widows remarried,
 
 314 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 and the Church sanctioned their union ; therefore 
 the guiltless and deserted member of a marriage, 
 being left without love, and needing it for conso- 
 lation in the earthly life, might equally well re- 
 marry without censure. 
 
 She stood in front of the dressing-table repeat- 
 ing the word "divorce" helplessly. For all her 
 arguments, it loomed to her full of heaviness and 
 malevolence. She turned and dropped on her 
 knees by the bed. It had come to this: only a 
 divorce could save Ellice. But neither she nor 
 her husband had any grounds for obtaining a 
 divorce. Why, then, in her sore perplexity, had 
 this bitter thing been flung as the one solution? 
 She prayed, divesting her utterance of all but the 
 fervid request for guidance. But this divorce ob- 
 sessed. It writhed into her supplications, trailed 
 itself through their purity, stung her like an adder 
 if for a second her thoughts rose above it in a 
 stream of adoration. Divorce, divorce could that 
 be the way God had given to save Ellice? But 
 how? Whose divorce? Suddenly she sprang to 
 her feet, shaken from head to foot by a paroxysm 
 of nervous shudders. 
 
 "Oh, God! is that the way?" 
 
 She dragged herself to the window for air. Out 
 in the garden her eyes fell upon great clumps of 
 pink peonies, but she did not consciously see 
 them. 
 
 "Dear Lord, forgive me if I err, for in my heart 
 I feel that this is Thy wish, that Thou wouldst 
 that I should do this to save Ellice. To bear 
 ignominy is not to sin, and Thou, dear Lord,
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 315 
 
 knowest that I desire to prevent evil, that there 
 is no evil in my thoughts." 
 
 She lapsed into silence again. Her soul, strained 
 to its utmost limits, waited for the answer from 
 above. Gradually the shuddering of her body 
 ceased, and a look almost of peace passed into 
 the pallid face. She turned her eyes once more 
 toward the garden, and saw the radiant color 
 of the peonies near the lawn, though an instant 
 later, by a disastrous leap of association, her 
 eyes were aware, not of them, but of a pink 
 crepe shawl in relief against the green, and she 
 drew back, moaning involuntarily. 
 
 "I saw to save," she repeated, however, press- 
 ing bravely out of mind the bitter scene risen so 
 clearly into sight again. 
 
 A wonderful calm was slowly filling her, the 
 quiet of any decision made after dire perplexity 
 falling upon the overtaxed spirit. 
 
 For a long while she remained sitting by the 
 window. She felt as if to sit there, still, alone, 
 giving her physical fatigue way at last, was a 
 form of happiness. She remained for a time con- 
 scious only of her own lassitude and the pro- 
 digious ease of bodily repose now that her mind 
 was satisfied. Presently thought commenced its 
 travail again. She was tired, but there was much 
 to do. Just once, as she drew near to action, a 
 ripple of distress disturbed the calm of her ex- 
 pression again. 
 
 "Give him the strength to make the sacrifice 
 as well as me," she prayed, going over to the 
 writing-table.
 
 316 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Presently she rang the bell. 
 
 "Take this note across to Mr. Crawford, and 
 wait for a reply," she said to the servant who 
 answered it. 
 
 Her voice as she spoke was unsteady. 
 
 Half an hour later she opened, panting, the 
 missive brought back from him: 
 
 "MY DEAR MRS. SPENSER: In ten minutes I will 
 be with you. Your note is like a draught of 
 champagne. Please do not forget for one mo- 
 ment that there is nothing you could ask me to 
 do but that the doing of it would constitute the 
 most precious memory of my useless, selfish ex- 
 istence. 
 
 "Yours in gratitude, 
 
 "SIDNEY CRAWFORD." 
 
 Gillette dropped the note out of her hands. 
 Her face was white as a piece of paper.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 Crawford waited some time in Gillette's bou- 
 doir. The French shutters were closed across 
 the open window to keep the room from the 
 day's heat. He stood in front of the mantel- 
 piece and acknowledged that this coming inter- 
 view greatly agitated him. Also he wished the 
 weather had been cooler. Half the time he would 
 spend mopping his neck and forehead. 
 
 For Gillette's strange little note had aroused 
 a curiosity inwrought with emotion. "I am go- 
 ing to ask you to make a great sacrifice in order 
 to help another human being." In that phrase 
 lay the pith of the brief epistle. A sense of hap- 
 piness different in kind and greater than any he 
 had ever experienced took possession of Craw- 
 ford as he read. As he stood in the shaded room 
 gazing at the settee where she so often lay, he 
 felt as if the heaviness of his immense body rolled 
 off him through his fervor to be about this busi- 
 ness. Sluggish fatness ceased to be an impedi- 
 ment; there was an energy in him sufficient to 
 remove mountains. 
 
 But through his excitement ran a vein of ner- 
 vousness and depression. He had not seen Gil- 
 lette since the child's death. She had sent a 
 message thanking him for the huge cross he had 
 placed among the others, but he knew also of 
 her prostration, of the disquietude that remained
 
 318 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 in her eyes, and the despair that wandered forth 
 in the broken feebleness of her voice. And after 
 dreading unspeakably their first meeting, he was 
 to see her with her wound still fresh and bleed- 
 ing, with her aching heart undulled by time and 
 habit. Frankly, he grew afraid of his own emo- 
 tionality at the thought. It was to him as if 
 she came with her sorrow carried naked in her 
 arms, and asked him to gaze at its awfulness. 
 Oh, to see her suffer, and he helpless! He had 
 sobbed before at lesser women's pettier wailings 
 when with them. What should he do, then, face 
 to face with agony itself, in the heart of the 
 greatest he knew? He was wiping his hot neck 
 above the collar when the door opened. Slowly 
 Gillette came across to him, a figure tragic be- 
 yond expression in its very simplicity and quiet. 
 
 "Mrs. Spenser " 
 
 Crawford could say no more. A lump filled 
 his throat, but he seized the hand she held out 
 and pressed it between his own. She had pos- 
 sessed to him, as she walked across the dark- 
 ened room, a beauty become superhuman. He 
 saw the graceful lines of her black gown, the 
 whiteness of her face, the spiritual light shining 
 in the distended eyes; but he saw besides them 
 something else indefinable, that gave him a de- 
 sire to kneel and worship at her feet. Obscurely 
 he felt as if to-day he saw her soul literally gleam- 
 ing behing her face, as if she had clothed herself 
 only in its beauty, and come to him privately to 
 show him once the miraculous grace of it. To- 
 day in her noble gentleness she had grown divine.
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 319 
 
 "What can I do for you? Tell me, please" he 
 said at last, perceiving that she seemed afraid to 
 begin speaking. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Spenser, come and sit down. You 
 don't look fit to stand." 
 
 "I would rather stand, if you do not mind." 
 
 Whatever she had to ask cost her, he discerned, 
 a grievous effort to enunciate. She laid a hand 
 upon the arm of the settee, and commenced to 
 tremble slightly. Crawford grew unnerved with 
 misery at the sight. 
 
 "Mrs. Spenser, won't you tell me what I can 
 do? I am so impatient to learn. Only you must 
 not be deceived it won't be any sacrifice at all. 
 I am just bursting with my own good luck I 
 mean you see, Mrs. Spenser, I felt that I should 
 just go on chattering about doing things to get 
 a bit straight in mind, and never do anything 
 in the end. And now you say " 
 
 She was looking at him with so extraordinary 
 an expression that he broke off from sheer sur- 
 prise. He had the impression that every word 
 he uttered hurt her. When he ceased speaking, 
 her fingers moved helplessly over the cool chintz 
 surface. The first words she uttered were scarcely 
 audible, though she looked him bravely in the face. 
 
 "Mr. Crawford, the sacrifice I want to ask is 
 much, much greater than you could guess. Would 
 you give up your good reputation be charged 
 with a great sin if it was to save another human 
 being from committing any sin at all if it was 
 to bring happiness and avoid evil? Could you 
 bear it all your life?"
 
 320 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 Each halting word came charged with magnet- 
 ism. As she spoke, Crawford felt drawn by a 
 fascination both unnatural and overpowering. 
 She seemed to immerse him in her own emotions. 
 
 "I would give up anything, be bombarded all 
 over with charges, if you tell me that you wish 
 it. Mrs. Spenser, won't you tell me what this is 
 I am to do?" 
 
 "Yes; but the words go from me and if you 
 should not understand? Will you go to the win- 
 dow and turn your back, and only listen? no, 
 stay: I will say it." 
 
 She could scarcely breathe. Her poor, hot 
 hands fluttered piteously over the cold chintz 
 cover, and her lips moved without sound ; but in 
 the meantime Crawford was powerless to help 
 her. He had not the most obtuse glimmering, 
 even, of what she desired to say. Until she spoke 
 he could do nothing. 
 
 "Mrs. Spenser, remember what I have just said, 
 that there is nothing you could ask but that I 
 should do it -with a whole heart. You know 
 better than I do, too, that the happiness of some- 
 thing done unselfishly beats every other kind of 
 happiness hollow." 
 
 He spoke to try and lessen her timidity, but at 
 the same time strongly under the contagious in- 
 fluence of her presence. His desire to be regen- 
 erated grew every moment; and, certainly, a 
 nature like his own he felt could only be regen- 
 erated by action, much action, and the more 
 violent and upheaving the better. 
 
 She looked at him then with a sudden diminu-
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 321 
 
 tion of confusion. The spiritual light returned 
 to her eyes, and once again Crawford felt that 
 her beauty to-day was overpowering and inex- 
 plicable. For all her hesitation, and distress also, 
 she drew him nearer to the inner regions of her 
 nature than she had ever done previously. His 
 desire to make a sacrifice grew like a tempest. 
 Slowly she raised her head. 
 
 "I want Mr. Spenser to divorce me. He loves 
 Ellice. Will you take me away from here to- 
 night, and let the world think that we are 
 guilty? We must go and stay in the same 
 house." 
 
 She saw his expression grow fixed and horror- 
 stricken; his very cheeks turn white and flabby. 
 And suddenly her own agitation dropped. In 
 an instant her mind grew calm and clear, every 
 fragment of timidity falling away from her in 
 the need for additional strength brusquely arisen. 
 The anguish of shame she had endured until that 
 moment died like a breeze at sunset. She realized 
 nothing any longer but that her sweet work of 
 redemption was even yet not secure, that she had 
 still to do battle, to fling away from them time 
 after time every arduous scruple as it arose. 
 
 Crawford stared at her speechlessly. Literally 
 his tongue lay powerless. Primarily her words 
 roused a sudden madness. Passion like a beast 
 at the sight of prey leaped up to seize its vic- 
 tim. This passed, but he stared on, trying to un- 
 derstand the real significance of the weird, insane 
 proposal, wonderful in its absurdity, lovely in its 
 very farcicality. Gradually the drift of the situa- 
 21
 
 322 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 tion grew clear to him. Gillette knew all or 
 most that there -was to know about her hus- 
 band and Miss Bastien, and, with a selflessness 
 equally sublime and ridiculous, she proposed to 
 make matters straight for them. If she were 
 divorced they could marry, and be happy like 
 the virtuous children of a fairy story. So, with 
 a touching, wondrous naivete, she came and asked 
 him to run away with her, or, rather, to make 
 believe of running away with her, in order that 
 two people not -worthy to tie her shoestrings 
 could make love -without dissembling. It was 
 enough to make one laugh and weep alternately. 
 But he looked at her, and the petty smile of 
 ridicule subsided. What she asked became no 
 longer purely fantastic. It became an action 
 attracting him, as if together they passed by it 
 out of the fever and taint of worldly places and 
 worldly conventions into a region full of quiet- 
 ness and harmony. Without a word, in a long 
 silence tense with the burning thoughts of both, 
 this man divested himself of all his old prejudices, 
 of all that could impair his single-minded vision 
 of the actual deed and actual vision. Never in 
 his life had he lived an hour so intensely as he 
 lived this, when he stood opposite to the woman 
 whose goodness enthralled him, and who asked 
 him, with eyes shining, publicly to brand her 
 \vith dishonor. But he could not do it! It was 
 beyond the bounds of possibility. Yet he knew 
 she spoke to him soul to soul in the silence, let- 
 ting her nature, with all its secret harborings, 
 stream forth into his that this dishonor would
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 323 
 
 but bring her peace, while refusal trampled the 
 last possible happiness out of her existence. 
 
 "I love you, dear, with a human love; your 
 shame would kill me," he said to himself. But 
 it seemed as if her mind read by intuition the 
 thought of his, the supplication of her eyes grew 
 so explicit, imploring him to remember that shame 
 is of the conscience, and can come from no other 
 source. Was it, then, his sacrifice, he asked him- 
 self, to suffer for her what her white soul could 
 not suffer for itself? Rivulets of perspiration 
 streamed down his temples, through the agony 
 of his perturbation. But not for a second did 
 he give a thought to any personal discredit. He 
 had not an emotion except for Gillette. At last 
 he spoke. 
 
 "Mrs. Spenser, you do not know what you ask ; 
 you are too good, dear woman, to understand. 
 You see only your beautiful intention, but I must 
 see other things besides. / cannot let you suffer 
 the unbearable. This oh, forgive me for refusing ! 
 is the impossible." 
 
 A sob broke from her; for, watching his face 
 in the silence, she had felt the slow uprising of 
 sympathy. Already a great prayer of thanks- 
 giving trembled upon her lips, and now he re- 
 fused. Yet he must needs refuse at first; she un- 
 derstood that. It was for her to make clear how, 
 if he could bear the weight of ignominy, for her 
 it was but a mantle embroidered with threads 
 of gold. 
 
 "Mr. Crawford forme; it is all happiness the 
 great opportunity granted my life. Oh, if I could
 
 324 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 but make you understand. Ellice loves my hus- 
 band! She has loved him, I think, for many, 
 many years. And I am afraid they love so much, 
 and he is ill. I feel that she thinks he will die 
 if she does not go away with him. Every day, 
 all day, I am afraid for them. And Ellice is good 
 she asks him to have pity. Oh, she must not 
 go ! If we do this he will divorce me Ellice is 
 saved. And him I think too much suffering 
 turns him from good, has brought bitterness. 
 With happiness he might feel differently." 
 
 Still Crawford's face remained unyielding. She 
 saw compassion, but no assent; and physical 
 strength was going. Already her poor tired voice 
 had died to a husky \vhisper. In the supreme 
 ardor of her petition she had unconsciously flung 
 her hands out toward him. He held them, wish- 
 ing he could press them against his lips. She 
 shivered. No prisoner waiting to hear whether a 
 death-sentence or an acquittal would fall from the 
 lips of the judge could have revealed a more 
 awful uncertainty than she betrayed while the 
 other stood and hesitated with her trembling 
 hands retained in his. 
 
 What could he do? To begin -with, he loved her, 
 and this mock elopement stirred up new and bit- 
 ter emotions. How could he play the sham lover, 
 and not betray inner longing to turn the sham 
 into reality? True, he could still honestly affirm 
 it was her soul he loved supremely, but to stand 
 the farcical tragedy of the future, and support 
 along with it the passion inevitably drawn to the 
 surface, was no mean sacrifice to make. She, with
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 325 
 
 her innocent wide eyes, did not realize the extent 
 of the self-annihilation she asked. 
 
 "Mrs. Spenser!" he gasped, feeling that the air 
 of the room was red-hot, and that life itself after 
 this scene would become impossible in its compli- 
 cations. "I " 
 
 She waited in a dumb agony. He stopped, 
 checked by the slow despair that had crept into 
 her eyes to increase his sense of being unnerved 
 and hard pressed. The spiritual hope, like a lan- 
 tern shining behind them when she had entered 
 the room, had faded gradually. A -wistful desola- 
 tion now took its place, as if at last they won- 
 dered plaintively at their own excess of sorrow. 
 
 Crawford's own mental torture was extreme. 
 She drew him irresistibly to desire this action 
 also, to temporarily exult in the self-sacrifice en- 
 tailed; but he knew his exultation, unlike hers, 
 could not endure permanently. Subsequently com- 
 mon-sense would return to him. He would see 
 the affair once more both mad and grotesque. 
 And yet, and yet through this woman he was 
 beginning not to care much for the dictates of 
 conventional opinion. And if he did this, he and 
 this woman for the future would be spiritually, 
 at least, one. Their lives could never again be 
 wholly separated. No, no ! if they left this house 
 together spiritually, they would remain together 
 always. Just that much he had a right to ask 
 the guidance of his future life by hers and he felt 
 his chest expand at the mere suggestion. At that 
 moment she lifted her head once more. It was 
 like a ghost's with great black eyes.
 
 326 THE SUPREME SACRIFICE 
 
 "Mr. Crawford, can't you? Won't you remem- 
 ber that you, too, believe that life was given to 
 try and achieve good with to be our oppor- 
 tunity?" 
 
 He groaned out aloud. His conscience, for all 
 his contempt for it, was keenly alive. While 
 Gillette waited, sick with fear and grief, she yet 
 knew that her friend, too, would act only accord- 
 ing to the light given. She saw in his face, with 
 its unprecedented look of thought, that his an- 
 swer, be it yes or no, would come ringing and 
 whole from his sore-pressed spirit. She waited, 
 beyond prayer, beyond everything but hard- 
 breathed suspense. And her eyes, darkened by 
 misery, gazed fixedly at his till he was aware of 
 nothing but them and the wondrous radiance of 
 the soul behind. Stifling, he made a movement to 
 fling back the closed shutters. As he did so, he 
 heard voices talking in the passage, coming to- 
 ward the room. In an instant hesitation left him. 
 He took the dearly-loved hands in his once more 
 and spoke in a hurried whisper: 
 
 "Mrs. Spenser, I will do all you ask. To serve 
 you is the only happiness I care for. In two 
 hours be at the gates on the other side of the 
 park. Hush! here come Miss Bastien and your 
 husband. Have no fear in two hours your work 
 of salvation will have begun. Only tell me it is 
 all I need that you will trust your faithful 
 brother from thi^ moment to the end of your 
 life." 
 
 He did not hear the answer, though he knew it 
 to be assent. But he saw what was even
 
 GILLETTE'S MARRIAGE 327 
 
 sweeter : the agony fade like an evil dream out of 
 her eyes, and into her face come a look of tender 
 exultation such as he had not seen in it except 
 when she had clasped, during the first happy days 
 of her motherhood, her little infant to her breast. 
 Into the heart of each, by the time the door was 
 opened, had already descended steadfastness and 
 peace.
 
 ECCENTRICITIES OF GENIUS 
 
 By Major J. B. Pond. 
 
 READ WHAT IS SAID OF IT. 
 
 " It is distinctly one of the most in- 
 teresting books of the year from any 
 point of view." Rochester Sunday 
 Herald. 
 
 " It is many a day since I have read 
 so fascinating a book of reminiscences. 
 Many a day or perhaps I should 
 have said a ' night ' for this volume 
 has given me delight during hours, 
 when, according to the laws of nature, 
 I should have been asleep." Newell 
 Dwight Hillis. 
 
 " One of the most simple, naive and 
 straightforward books ever written. 
 It fairly reeks with personality. . . . 
 No man living has had such interest- 
 ing association with so many inter- 
 esting people." Home Journal. 
 
 " Adorned by many pictures, never 
 before published." Detroit Journal. 
 
 " Possesses unparalleled attrac- 
 tions." Boston Journal. 
 
 " Major Pond goes deep into his 
 subject, furnishing pen-portraits that 
 are admirably clear and graphic." 
 The Mail and Express. 
 
 '' The whole book, stuffed as it is 
 with anecdotes and extracts from 
 personal letters, is marvelously inter- 
 esting." Boston Transcript. 
 
 "All the world loves a teller of 
 stories, and readers will sureiy take 
 approvingly to the man who gives 
 them so much of entertaining reading 
 as is found in Major Pond's 600 pages 
 of bright personal description." 
 N. Y. Times. 
 
 " Shining by reflected light, its pages 
 literally teem with interesting anec- 
 dotes of many sorts." Chicago Even* 
 ing Post. 
 
 "Originality stamps the volume, 
 copiously illustrated with portraits. " 
 The Boston Globe. 
 
 " It has a thousand charms, and a 
 thousand points of interest. It is full 
 of striking gems of thought, rare de- 
 scriptions of men and places ; biogra- 
 phical bits that delight one by their 
 variety, and the distinction of those 
 alluded to. From a literary view it is 
 as interesting as Disraeli's famous 
 "Curiosities of Literature." Phila- 
 delphia Item. 
 
 " If any more charming and inter- 
 esting book has appeared this season, 
 it has not come to our notice. The 
 get-up is worthy of the matter of the 
 book." Philadelphia Ev:ning Tele- 
 graph. 
 
 It is a handsome octavo volume, sf x 8J inches, of 620 pages, with nearly 
 100 half-tone portrait illustrations. Beautifully bound in English silk cloth, 
 with gold stamp on side, gilt top, At all Bookstores. $3.50.
 
 TYYT" Trrr^T" A /^F* f\T* TTTT/\T\ A T 
 
 THE VOYAGE OF ITHOBAL 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR EDWIN ARNOLD 
 
 Ithobal was the first African explorer we know 
 about. He was a sea captain of Tyre, who rescued 
 and married an African Princess, and then induced 
 the King of Egypt to put him in charge of a voyage 
 of exploration of the wonderful land of his wife's 
 birth. 
 
 After a voyage of fifteen thousand miles around 
 Africa, he returns after numerous and exciting ad- 
 ventures, which bring out almost every feature of 
 African life and scenery. Ithobal relates the story 
 of his enterprise in a discourse of seven days before 
 the throne of Pharaoh, who crowns him with honors. 
 
 SIR HENRY M. STANLEY, in a letter to the author, 
 says of it: "You have added greatly to the 
 happiness of many of your race by the production 
 of so unique a poem, so rich in the beauties of the 
 sweet English language." 
 
 Other able critics who have read the blind poet's 
 new epic poem unite in calling it even better than 
 the old favorite, "The Light of Asia." 
 
 f2mo, Cloth, Gili Top. Illustrated from 36 drawings by 
 
 Arthur Lumlcy. $1.50
 
 EQUAL PAETITEES. By Howard Fielding, 
 
 By HOWARD FIELDING. "This is a thoroughly enjoyable de- 
 tective story, written in good, crisp style, and with a decided 
 surprise in the last pages. It is adroitly contrived that almost 
 every character in the book shall be suspected of the crime of 
 attempted murder before the actual culprit is discovered. The 
 characters are excellently differentiated, and the story is 
 vastly diverting, nor are there any repulsive features about 
 the book. It is a stirring tale and will enliven a dull evening 
 successfully." Chicago Tribune. Illustrated. Cloth bound. 
 
 $1.25 
 
 DOEIS ZIUGSLEY, Child and Colonist. 
 
 By EMMA RAYNER, author of "Free to Serve," "In Castle and 
 Colony," etc. This story of the South in the first half of the 
 eighteenth century, opens with one of the strangest episodes 
 in the early history of South Carolina the pursuit and cap- 
 ture by the Governor of Carolina of a pirate vessel, full, not 
 of treasure, but of English men and women ; and the selling 
 of those same unfortunate voyagers as bond servants in the 
 colony. Doris Kingsley, a child stolen from the streets of 
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 story. Doris Kingsley is a novel of absorbing interest, 
 dramatic and historically true. Illustrated. Cloth bound. 
 
 $1.50 
 
 OLD JED PEOUTY ( A Narrative of the Penobscot). 
 
 By RICHARD GOLDEN and MARY C. FRANCIS. In "Old Jed 
 Prouty" the reading public is presented with a New England 
 character story of unusual interest and merit. The plot, al- 
 though not an involved one, hides enough mystery to lend 
 the spice of the unknown to the reader's zest, and the simple 
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 ments that dominate the tale. Standing out above all, in- 
 fusing into the fiber of every chapter the rugged sincerity, the 
 homely wit and the quaint philosophy of New England, is 
 the central character about which the pivot of the story turns, 
 "Old Jed Prouty," real in name and real in goodness, who 
 at the time of his life, some thirty years since, was a land- 
 mark in the Valley of the Penobscot. Cloth bound. . $1.50
 
 A MA3TES OP FOKTUNE, being Further Adventures of "Captain 
 
 Kettle." 
 
 By CUTCLIFFE HYNE. "It has the dash and tinge of reality that 
 makes you feel as if you were in the midst of it all." Detroit 
 Free Press. 
 
 "The many readers who followed with bated breath the wild 
 adventures of Captain Kettle in the book named for him, will 
 welcome Cutcliffe Hyne's new collection of tales dealing with 
 that remarkable sea dog. The volume is well called 'A Mas- 
 ter of Fortune.' " Philadelphia Press. 
 
 "Nobody who has followed the gallant sailor diminutive, but 
 oh, my ! in his previous adventures around the earth, is 
 going to miss this red-hot volume of marvelous exploits." 
 N. Y. World. Illustrated. Cloth bound. . . . $1.50 
 
 THE ADVENTUBES OF CAPTAIN KETTLE. 
 
 By CUTCLIFFE HYNE. The best sea story since the days of 
 Marryat. Captain Kettle is a devil-may-care sea dog, half 
 pirate and half preacher. The author carries him through 
 many hairbreadth escapes and makes him a character that 
 will live long in the annals of fiction. The success of this 
 book is marvelous. Over 80,000 copies have been sold. Il- 
 lustrated. Cloth bound. $1.50 
 
 THE MULLIGANS. A Novel. 
 
 By EDWARD HARRIGAN. The New York World says: "Mr. 
 Harrigan gave to his Mulligan dramas the most distinctly 
 typical character plays which have ever been seen on the 
 native stage. They were studied and displayed straight from 
 the life of New York and their popularity was unbounded. 
 His book is one of the most generally interesting of the new 
 season's output." 
 
 It is a marvelously entertaining novel, possessing a keen- 
 ness of wit and humor unsurpassed by any recent work. All 
 the characters stand out, as true to life, as natural and as 
 vivid as if portrayed by Dickens. I2mo. Cloth bound. Il- 
 lustrated. Price, .... . . . $1.50
 
 NOBMAN HOLT, a Story of the Army of the Cumberland. 
 
 By GENERAL (Capt.) CHARLES KING. "No more charming his- 
 toric war story has ever been written. It is Captain King's 
 best, and bearing, as it does, on the great battle of Mission 
 Ridge, although the story is woven in fiction, it adds an in- 
 valuable record of that gigantic contest between the two 
 great armies." 
 
 "The characters are real, their emotions natural, and the ro- 
 mance that is interwoven is delightful. It is wholesome and 
 one of General King's best, if not his best book." N. Y. 
 Journal. 
 
 "From the first chapter to the last page the interest of the 
 reader never fags. General King has written no more bril- 
 liant or stirring novel than 'Norman, Holt.' " N. Y. Press. 
 Illustrated, cloth bound $1-25 
 
 JOHN EENEY, (25th Thousand.) 
 
 By HUGH McHucn. " 'John Henry' has just 'butted' its way 
 in between the literary bars and capered over the book coun- 
 ters to the tune of twelve thousand copies before its pub- 
 lishers could recover their breath. 
 
 "Every page is as catchy as a bar from a popular song. 
 
 "The slang is as correct, original and smart as the newest 
 handshake from London. 
 
 "In the lottery of humorous books 'John Henry' seems to ap- 
 proximate the capital prize." N. Y. Journal. 
 
 "All who have laughed over 'Billy Baxter' will heartily enjoy 
 this book." The Bookseller, Newsdealer and Stationer. 
 Cloth bound . . $0.75 
 
 THE KING OF HONEY ISLAND, (45th Thousand.) 
 By MAURICE THOMPSON, author of "Alice of Old Vincennes," 
 etc. " 'The King of Honey Island' bears quite as many marks 
 of the genius of the author as does 'Alice of Old Vincennes,' 
 with the additional charm, perhaps of more buoyancy and 
 beauty of thought and expression. In 'Alice' Mr. Thompson 
 plumed himself as a master word painter. In 'The King of 
 Honey Island' he developed into a veritable American Ouida, 
 for his descriptive powers are marvelous. Like the true 
 artist that he was, he paints Nature as it looks, not as it is, 
 so that the reader, in glimpsing the battle of New Orleans, 
 hears, almost, the cannon's roar." The Topeka Capital. 
 Illustrated, cloth bound $1.50
 
 JOHN WINSLOW. 
 
 By HENRY D. NORTHROP. " 'John Winslow' is one of those in- 
 viting books of country life of which the best part of 'Eben 
 Holden' has come to be the accepted type. Plenty of shrewd 
 common sense in the chief character, a dash of love on the 
 side, an incidental and inevitable bit of human wickedness 
 but everything in the picture and the framing attractive. This 
 is a book for a wide reach among readers." N. Y. World. 
 
 "Properly ranks with 'Eben. Holden/ 'David Harum,' and 
 
 'Quincy Adams Sawyer.' The four may be put in a class by 
 themselves as distinctive types of homespun Americans." 
 The North American. 
 
 "Worthy to live with 'David Harum" and 'Eben Holden.' " 
 Publishers' Weekly. I2mo, ilkistrated, cloth bound. $1.50 
 
 TJNDEE A LUCKY STAE, a New Book on Astrology. 
 By CHARLOTTE ABELL WALKER. Tells what occupation to adopt, 
 and what line of life to follow, what associates and partners 
 to choose, how to fecognize the possibilities and limitations 
 of our friends and ourselves, and of other important matters 
 to human life, including suggestions on marriage, being mainly 
 culled from the minds of ancient and modern philosophers. 
 Illustrated, cloth bound $1.50 
 
 THE WAT OF A MAN WITH A MAID. 
 
 By FRANCES GORDEN FANE. A clever, well-written story, full 
 of love and pathos, and thrilling with dramatic crises. Each 
 step of the domestic tragedy is skilfully portrayed, until the 
 final climax is reached. 
 
 "Its author has made it a powerful, telling story to read." 
 N. Y. World. 
 Cloth bound. $1.50 
 
 THE OEOSSEOADS OP DESTINY, a Story of Chivalry in the Fif- 
 teenth Century. 
 
 By JOHN P. RITTER. Author of "The Man Who Dared." This 
 is a wonderfully interesting story, and will find a welcome 
 with all who love to read of deeds of chivalry. 
 "It is a clean, clear and clever story of chivalry at its best, 
 and will find a great many well-pleased readers." New York 
 World. Cloth bound, illustrated. .... $1.25
 
 A CHEttDE FOR THREE THOUSAND. 
 By ARTHUR HENRY VEYSEY. (Tenth edition.) It's a jolly good 
 story, bright and clear. Dramatic, full of life and action and 
 a brilliant farce from end to end. You cannot put it down 
 until you finish it, and you will mention it many a time when 
 you want to relate something novel and odd among your 
 friends. Attractively bound in cloth. . . i.oo 
 
 A PEDIGREE IN PAWN. 
 
 By ARTHUR HENRY VEYSEY. Author of " A deque for Three 
 Thousand," which has run into its seventh edition. Original, 
 bright, sparkling fun runs all through " A Pedigree in Pawn." 
 It will be talked about and laughed over more than any other 
 book of the year. Illustrated with 14 character drawings. 
 Cloth bound. 1.25 
 
 HATS OFF. 
 
 By ARTHUR HENRY VEYSEY. Author of " A Cheque for Threa 
 Thousand," etc. A splendid story for summer reading. Are 
 you tired, blue? Read HATS OFF! Do you want a story 
 for the hammock? Read HATS OFF! Do you want a story 
 with " go," with an original plot ? Read HATS OFF ! Do you 
 want to laugh? Read HATS OFF! Cloth bound. . 1.25 
 
 Paper covers. . 50 
 
 THE STATEROOM OPPOSITE. 
 
 By ARTHUR HENRY VEYSEY. Author of "A Cheque for Three, 
 Thousand," etc. Is a well balanced detective story. It is 
 not overdrawn as such books usually are, but full of mysterious 
 and vital interest. It is a departure from Mr. Veysey's previous 
 humorous style in " A Cheque for Three Thousand," and " A 
 Pedigree in Pawn," proving him to be a remarkably versatile 
 writer. Most of the events take place on shipboard. It is a 
 powerful story, with a most dramatic climax, and inimitably 
 original characters. Cloth bound. . . . 1.25 
 Paper covers. ... 50 
 
 CLEO THE MAGNIFICENT; or, The Muse of the Real. 
 By Louis ZANGWILL. The Boston Times says : " The story is 
 drawn with a master hand and the characters stand forth in 
 clear relief. It is in every way worthy of Mr. Zangwill's 
 reputation." One of the best novels of the year. Cloth 
 bound. ........ 1.50
 
 THE MAID OF BOCASSE. 
 
 By MAY HALSEY MILLER. Author of "Raoul and Iron Hand." 
 This is a delightful fourteenth-century romance. The 
 Maid of Bocasse was the orphan daughter of a rich count, 
 who dwelt in the Kingdom of Navarre. A Gascon knight 
 made a daring attempt to win the fair chatelaine and her 
 estates, and the entire story is one of struggle, heroism, 
 love, and passion. It is a romance of strength and power. 
 Cloth bound, illustrated, . . . $1.50 
 
 WIDOW MAGOOGIN. 
 
 By JOHN J. JENNINGS. The inimitable widow's philosophy 
 on the topics of the day, spoken in her own dialect, is won- 
 derfully funny. As a critic, the "Irish widow" touches upon 
 the foibles of fads and fashions with masterly sarcasm, and 
 Mr. Jennings, in his art, has characterized her with skilful 
 touches true to Nature. Cloth bound, . . $1.25 
 
 THE SONG- OF THE SWORD, A Eomance of 
 1796, 
 
 By LEO DITRICHSTEIN. This author needs no introduction to 
 the public. In this thrilling story he displays a perfect 
 wealth of plots and critical situations. It is an excellent 
 work, fine and subtle, with many exciting scenes. A 
 spirit of chivalrous romance exudes from each chapter. 
 There is, in fact, an odor of romance all about it. The 
 work spent on the central figures is splendid, and the 
 entire book satisfies the demand for combined entertain- 
 ment and interest in a historical novel. Cloth bound, illus- 
 trated, ...... $1.50 
 
 FATHER ANTHONY. 
 
 By ROBERT BUCHANAN. "One of the most touching and dra- 
 matic stories ever written in connection with Irish life. 
 It is a heart-stirring story ; and it is the more attractive 
 because Mr. Buchanan writes of Irish life from personal 
 knowledge, and describes places and people with which, and 
 with whom, he has had a long familiarity. Father John is a 
 typical Irish character. Mr. Buchanan has never con- 
 ceived a more finely-drawn character than Father Anthony. 
 The book can be heartily commended to all classes of 
 readers." London Weekly Sun. Ten editions have been 
 sold in London. Cloth bound, . . . $1.50
 
 ff1> 
 
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