"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. ” “Many other people,” she remarked, “have made the same mistake. I feel years younger, a man again. ” “But what did father imagine?” “Of course he imagined! Any one would! ‘What has happened, Peter?’ I asked. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. We think if we just defy the friends we have and go out into the world everything will become easy and splendid. ” “But how can I help it? How can I keep silence?” “Please!” she insisted. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees.
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