He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble we had. He hugged her when he saw her in the hallway. It was a bright and beautiful day: so bright, so beautiful, that even her sad heart was cheered by it. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. His fatigue was tacitly understood within the family; it was a phenomenon which everyone acknowledged as related to the trades. He would provide the necessities of life and protect her. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. “Your brother has gone?” she asked Sydney, between the courses.
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