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Many Waters ......................................................................................................................................................1

Thomas Fleming took his cigar out of his mouth, and contemplated the lighted end. He did not speak, the

other man, his lawyer, who had brought him the unwelcome news, began to make the best of it.

Bates chuckled. "It strikes me, Tom, considering the difference between this and the real thing, that

Fleming leaned over and knocked off the ashes from his cigar into his waste basket. He was silent.

"As for Hammond, he won't have a leg to stand on. I don't know what Ellis Grew meant by letting him take

"What has Hammond got, anyhow?" Bates continued, pulling a box of wax matches out of his waistcoat

pocket; "what's he got to support his opinion that you pinched $3,000 from the Hammond estate? His

memory of something somebody said twelve years ago, and an old check. Well, we won't do a thing to 'em!"

Fleming got up and began to pull down his desk top with a slow clatter. "Hammond's a fool," he said; "and

you'll punch a hole in his evidence in five minutes. But it'swell, as you say, it's 'annoying.'"

The lawyer rose briskly and reached for his hat. "What we want now is to get the case up near the head of the

list as soon as we can. Get it over! Get it over! Then, if you want revenge, we can turn round and hit back

with 'malicious prosecution'!" He laughed, goodnaturedly, and shrugged himself into his overcoat.

His client stood absently locking and unlocking his desk. "I suppose it will be in the evening papers?" he said.

"Oh, I guess so," the younger man said, easily; "the findings of the Grand Jury were reported at eleven this

"Then I'll take an early train home," Thomas Fleming said, quickly; "my wife" he paused.

"No," the other man said, gloomily; "I didn't want her to worry over it, so I didn't say anything. But, of

"Yes," Bates said, sympathetically; "but after all, Fleming, it's a small matter, except for the nuisance of it.

Fleming let his keyring drop, jingling, into his pocket. Except for the occasional faint clangor of cars far

down in the streets, the room, high up in the big office building, was quiet; but its quiet was the muffled,

inarticulate, neverending roar of living, rising from below. Fleming sighed, and, turning his back to his

lawyer, stared absently out of the window. Before him, in the afternoon dusk, lay the struggling, panting city.

Far off to the south he could see the water, and ferryboats crawling like beetles back and forth. Below, the

deep canyons of the streets were blurred with creeping yellow fog; but higher up, above the crowding roofs

and chimneys and occasional spires, the air was clearer; it was full of tumultuous movementsudden jets of

white steam ballooning from hundreds of escape pipes; shuffling, shifting coils of black smoke; here and

there the straining quiver of flags, whipping out from their masts. Fleming, his hands in his pockets, stood

staring and listeningwith unseeing eyes, unhearing ears. The lawyer behind him, at the office door,

"Fleming, really, it isn't going to amount to anything. Of course, I know how you feel about Mrs. Fleming,

The man at the window turned round. "Rather than have her disturbed, I'd compromise on it. I'd pay him.

The lawyer raised his eyebrows. "This time, I think, Hammond is honest. I guess he really believes he has a

case; but Ellis Grew are sharks, and you'd be encouraging blackmail to compromise. Anyway, you couldn't

do it. Grew volunteered the information that their man couldn't be bought off'; he meant to put it through,

Grew said. I told him they'd got the wrong pig by the ear. I told him that Thomas Fleming wasn't the kind of

man who purchases peace at the cost of principle. They're shysters, and I gave 'em plain talk. Now, don't let

He went off, laughing; and a minute later Fleming heard his step in the corridor, and then the clang of the

elevator door. He took up his black cloth bag and poked about in it among some papers; then unlocked his

desk and found what he had been looking fora box of candy for his wife. He slipped it into his bag, and a

minute or two later he was down in the muddy dusk of the street. As he moved along with the steady surge of

the homewardbound crowd, he looked doubtfully into the flower stores; he wished he had bought violets for

Amy instead of candy; he had taken her candy last Saturday. He debated whether he had not better get the

violets too, but decided against them, because Amy was stern with him when he was extravagant for her sake.

She never saw extravagance in any purchase he made on his own account! He smiled to himself at the

"Amy keeps me in order," he used to say, whimsically; "she insists that I shall be her best; it appears that my

own best isn't good enough for her!" This she would always deny, indignantly, and indeed justly; for Thomas

Fleming stood on his own legs, morally, in his community. But in the ten years of their married life no doubt

her ideals, in small matters, had created his. With his indolent goodnature, he had found it easier to agree

with Amy's delicate austerities of thought than to dispute them. Her hairsplitting in matters of conscience

always amused him, and sometimes touched him, but he accepted her standards of duty with real

tenderness which, for all practical purposes, was as good as conviction. Gradually, too, she pushed him,

gently, before he knew it, into civic affairs; not in any very large way; perhaps hardly more than in a

readiness to do his part as a citizen; but such readiness was sincere, and had given him a reputation for

publicspiritedness in which Amy took a quiet pride. He had never had time, though he had had opportunity,

to hold office, because his business demanded his entire energy; and, in fact, he had to be energetic, for he

had hardly any capital, his income being almost entirely dependent upon his earnings; so he was not at all a

rich manexcept, indeed, as he was rich in the honor and respect of the community, and the love of a

But then, if they were not rich in this world's goods, neither were they poor. There had been happy, anxious

years, when they were first married, when they had ridiculously little to live on; but in those days Amy had

steered their housekeeping bark between all rocks of hardship, as well as past breakers of extravagance. Even

now, when things were easier each year, Amy was still prudent and economical, at least where she herself

So Fleming, smiling, forbore to add a bunch of violets to his box of candy. After all, it was his thought that

would bring the delicate and happy color up into her face, not the gift itself. They were very happy, these

two; perhaps because they were only two. There had been a baby, but it had only lived long enough to draw

them very close together, and not, as sometimes happens, to push them apart again; and there were many

friends. But they were alone in their household and in the real heart of life. Naturally, all the thwarted

maternity of the woman was added to the wife's love; and the paternal instinct of the man (which is, for the

most part, only amusement, and the sense of protecting and giving joy) was centred in his wife. So it was no

wonder that that night, going home on the train, he winced at the thought of telling her that that "fool

Hammond," who "would not have a leg to stand on," had prosecuted him criminally for misappropriation of

funds as trustee of old Mrs. Hammond's estate. The trusts had been closed at her death a month or two before,

and the estate handed over to her sonthis same Hammond who "thought he remembered" hearing old

Smith say, twelve years before, that he, Smith, had paid the Hammond estate $17,400 for a parcel of land;

Amy's husband set his teeth as he sat there in the train, planning how he should tell her. Her incredulous

anger he foresaw; and her anxietythe anxiety of the woman unversed in legal matters. He damned

Hammond in his heart; and pulled out his evening paper. There it was, in all the shamelessness of the flaring

headline: "A Leading Citizen Indicted!" and so on. The big black letters were like a blow in the face. Fleming

felt that every commuter on the train was looking over the top of his newspaper at him. He found himself

glancing furtively across the aisle to see what page of the paper another passenger was reading; he thanked

God that none of the men he knew well were on the five o'clock, so he would not have to listen to friendly

assurances of astonishment at Hammond's impudence. His skin was prickly over his whole body; his ears

were hot. And he had to tell Amy! He sank his head down between his shoulders and pulled his hat over his

eyes, in pretence of a nap; then, suddenly, sat bolt upright. The fact was, Thomas Fleming had no experience

in disgrace, and did not know how to conduct himself. When the door banged open at his station, he swung

off on to the rainy platform, and plodded slowly up the lane in the darkness to his own house. It seemed to

him as though his very feet hung back! As the gate closed behind him, he saw an instant crack of light at the

front door; and when his foot touched the lowest step of the porch, the door opened wide, and Amy stood

But she drew him inside with eager welcome. "Why, how did you manage to get the five o'clock? I heard the

gate shut, and could hardly believe my ears! Oh, your coat is damp; has it begun to rain? Hurry! take it off.

Then come into the library and get warm." She possessed herself of one of his hands, so that he had to dive

into his bag as best he could with the other, to fish out her box of candy. She took it, smiling, with gay

pretence of scolding, and then checked herself. "You look tired, Tom. When you've had your dinner (we have

a good dinner tonight; I wish you had brought some man home with you!) you'll feel better,"

He dropped down into his chair by the fire in silence, frowning slightly, and drawing impatiently away from

her. Thomas Fleming did not always like to be fussed over; there were times when, perhaps, he endured it

with a mildly obvious patience. Every tender woman knows this patience of a good and bored man. Amy

Fleming knew it, and smiled to herself, quite un offended. Something had bothered him? Well, he should

not be talked to! But she looked at him once or twice. In her soft gray dress, with her gray eyes, and the sweet

color in her cheeks, she brooded over him like a dove. At dinner his silence continued. Amy, being wise

beyond her sex, fell into a silence of her ownthe blessed, comprehending silence of love. When they came

back from the diningroom to the library fireside, she let him smoke uninterruptedly, while she sewed.

Sometimes her eyes rested on him, quietly content with his mere presence. But she asked no question.

When he had told her, she sat dumb before him. Her face was white, and her eyes terrorstricken, But that

was only for the first moment. Almost instantly there was the relief of anger. She stood up, her delicate face

It was just what Bates had said. The first thought everywhere would be of the absurdity of such a charge

"Of course we shall have no difficulty in throwing them down," he said. "They bring their case, really, on

"I don't understand?" Amy said. It had always been a joke between them that Amy did not know anything

"Oh," he said, impatiently, "it's simple enough. L. H. Smith owed me $3,000a personal matter. I once sold

him some stock; he gave me his note; had to renew two or three times; thing sort of hung fire. You wouldn't

understand it, Amy. But when he bought this Hammond property for $14,400, he made out the check for

$17,400;he'd had a windfall, so he could pay me what he owed me, see? I got my money. Understand?"

"Oh, well, I suppose this time he really thinks he has a case; though on general principles I believe he's equal

to blackmail! But he has succeeded in getting from the Smith heirs that old check for the total amount, and I

suppose he thinks he has me. He'll find himself mistaken. But it's a nasty business," he ended, moodily; "there

Her husband was silent. Amy's knees were shaking under her. "Oh, I could kill that man, I could kill him!"

Well as he knew her, he looked at her with astonishmentthis mild creature to speak with such deadly,

vindictive passion! She came and knelt down beside him; he felt her heart pounding in her side.

She spoke very softly. "I know how they felt; those women, 'looking on, afar off.' "

"Looking on?" he said, vaguely. And Amy, her face still hidden on his breast, said in a whisper:

"It must have been easier forfor Him, on the cross, than for them to see Him there."

He moved abruptly in his chair; then, with a faint impatience, said she mustn't talk that way. "It's foolish!" he

said, irritably. She kissed him, silently; and went back to her seat by the fire.

"I'll get out of it all right," Fleming said; "Bates says so. It's annoying"he found himself falling back on

Bates's word"but there's nothing to it. You mustn't worry. Bates says Hammond is crazy to undertake it;

"I don't worry; in the sense of being afraid that" she could not even put into words the fear that she did not

have. "But to have your name mixed up with anything dishonorableeven though it will come out clear and

He made no answer. The fatigue of the day was showing in his facea heavy, handsome face, with a

"Don't let's talk about it, dearest, any more tonight. It's only on the surface; it isn't a real trouble."

But that night Amy Fleming, lying motionless in her bed, stared into the darkness until the glimmering

"Trouble shows us our friends," Amy said, smiling. And indeed it did, in the Flemings' case. When the news

of the indictment of Thomas Fleming fell upon his community, there was a moment of stunned astonishment;

The first day or two, while it was still a nine days' wonder, public confidence was almost an ovation. The

small house behind the trim hedges was crowded with Amy's women friends, coming and going, and quoting

"Of course Mr. Hammond has no case, Amy, darling! My Tomor Dick or Harrysays so."

Amy did not need such assurances. She knew her husband! So she held her head proudly, and with certainty.

Not certainty of the outcome of the trialbecause, secretly, she had the unreasoning terror of most women of

sheltered lives for the very word law; it meant power; wicked power, even! The opportunity of evil to get the

better of goodness. But her pride and certainty were for Thomas Fleming's honor, and goodness, and courage.

She was a little cold when these tender women friends tried to reassure her, quoting the opinion of their

menfolk; she did not want, by eager agreement, to imply that she needed reassurance. She said, with gentle

dignity, that she was sorry Mr. Hammond was sofoolish. Tom had been trustee of the Hammond estate for

nearly twenty years, and he had given time and service"service," she said, the coloring rising faintly in her

face, "that money could not have paid for." And to have the Hammonds turn upon him now!"Though, of

course, it is only Mr. Hammond," Amy corrected herself, carefully just; "the rest of the family are nice

people. His mother was such an honorable woman. And his wifeI am sorry for his wife." Amy thought a

great deal about this wife. "She must know what he is, poor soul!" she said to herself. And knowing, she

could not respect him. And without respect, love must have crumbled away. She said something like this to

her most intimate friend, almost in a whisper, because expression was not easy to Amy. "When Mrs.

"Poor thing!" said the other woman; "but, Amy, I suppose she is fond of him? He has been a good husband,

"A good husband? How do you mean? Kind? A good provider?" Amy said, with a droop of her lip.

"Well, my dear, at least the man has been faithful to her; among all the horrid things that have been said

"They had better have said 'that'!" Amy said. "Oh, Helen, faithful to her with his body; but what about his

mind? Don't you suppose a good woman could forgive the poor, sinful body? But the mind, the sinful mind!

Her friend looked doubtful. "I suppose it is," she said; "but I think most wives could forgive the sinful mind

"What!" said Amy, "when she has lived with him for fifteen years? Of course she knows him. And I truly pity

So in spite of her deep resentment at Hammond, Amy felt something like tenderness for Hammond's

As the weeks passed before the day set for the trial, Amy grew perceptibly thinner and whiter. For beneath all

her certainties, the fear of the Law remained. She brooded over instances of goodness suspected, of innocent

men condemned, of the blunders and mistakes of Justice. It was not until three or four days before the trial

that Bates realized what even Thomas Fleming had not understood, that she was consumed with fear. Fear of

prison walls, of unmerited disgrace, of her house left unto her desolate. When the lawyer penetrated the tense

cheerfulness with which she held herself in Tom's presence, and saw the fright below, he roared with

"My dear lady, it would not he polite for me to use such a word; but certainly youwell, you are mistaken."

"Oh, say I am a fool," she pleaded; "I would like to think I was a fool! But, Mr. Bates, the Law can be made

to do such dreadful things. Innocent people have been put into jail; oh, you know they have," she said, her

face trembling; "and at night I lie awake and think" He saw her hands grip each other to keep steady.

"Now let me explain it to you," he said kindly; "and then you won't be frightened; why, you'll be so sure

you'll send out invitations for a dinner party on the 19th, so we can celebrate! And mind you have plenty of

Then, very explicitly, he laid before her the grounds of his confidence. Hammond, to start with, was a fool

"He always has been a cheap fellow; a sort of smart Aleck, you know; but this time he's just a fool." He had

fallen into the hands of a shyster firm, who were milking him"If you'll forgive the slang."

Hammond, being a fool, and having this vague idea about the price paid by Smith for the land, and having

secured the old check to prove (as he thinks) that such a price was paid, falls into the hands of these sharks.

"They know there is nothing to it, but they think they can pull out a plum somehow," said Mr. Bates. Then,

carefully, he told her the story point by point. Briefly, it was, that while there was no question that $17,400

had been paid to Thomas Fleming, Hammond could not disprove Fleming's defence that only $14,400 of it

was to go to the Trust; and that the remaining $3,000 was in payment of Smith's debt to him. "See?" said

Bates, kindly. As he spoke, the drawn look in her face lessened, and she drew one or two long breaths; and

then, suddenly, she put her hands over her eyes, and he knew she wept. This sobered the rather voluble man.

He protested, with friendly vociferation, that she must promise him not to give the matter another thought.

And, such being her temperament, she kept her promise. Perhaps it was the rebound from having gone down

to the depths of fear; but certainly there was almost bravado in the reaction. She made up her mind to have

the dinner party! Tom would come home, cleared, crowned with the vindication of his own integrity; and he

would find love, and friendship, and respect ready to exult with him. Tom, however, objected to her project.

"It's all right," he said; "it's perfectly safe, as far as the verdict goes; but" he stopped and frowned. It was

evident that the plan did not please him. But for the once Amy did not consult his pleasure. She had her own

views; and she did actually invite a party of old friends to dine with them on the evening when it was

Amy, in her dovecolored dress, entered the courtroom with her husband. During the trial, very quietly, and

with a beautiful serenity, she kept her place at his side. If the proceedings troubled her, there was no

indication of it. She looked a little tired, and once or twice a little amused. Sometimes she smiled at Thomas

Fleming, and sometimes exchanged a word or two with Mr. Bates. But for the most part she was silent; and

her repose was a spot of refreshment and beauty in the dingy courtroom. Bates looked at her occasionally,

with rather jovial encouragement; but she displayed no need of encouragement, and returned his smile

"You make me think of a poem I read somewhere; now, what was the name of it? I can only remember two

She turned, smiling, and finished the verse. "It's Henley's 'I am the captain of my soul,'" she said. "I have it

somewhere: I copied it once, because I cared so much for it. I'll read it to you tonight, after dinner."

"Do!" Bates said heartily, and turned away to listen to Fleming, who was on the stand. Fleming's evidence

was as straightforward as the man himself. Yes, Smith (now deceased) had paid him in March, 1887, the sum

of $17,400. Of this, $3,000 was on a personal account; $14,400 was for a parcel of land belonging to the

Hammond estate. The check was made to his order; he deposited it in his own bank account and immediately

drew against it a check for $14,400 to the order of the Trust. Then followed a very clear and definite

statement of that money Smith owed him; a debt which he was unable to corroborate by his books, for the

simple reason that his books had been burned in the great fire of that year. Over and over, back and forth,

Indeed, the end was obvious from the beginning. To assert that Thomas Fleming was an honest man was, so

Bates told the jury, to utter a commonplace. He was so cheerful and kindly, in his reference to the unfortunate

Mr. Hammond, that the jury grinned. The verdict, Bates declared, was a foregone conclusion. And so, in fact,

"And now," said the good Bates, shaking hands with his client, "let's go and get something to eat! Come, Mrs.

But Amy, with proud eyes, said no; she must go home. "You will come out with Tom this evening?" she said.

"Dinner is at halfpast seven; you can dress at our house; and, of course, you must stay all night." Bates

promised, and Fleming silently squeezed his wife's hand. Amy's heart was beating so that her words were a

She did not want to lunch with the two men; she had it in mind to go into a church which was near the

courthouse, and there, alone, in the silence and sacred dusk, return thanks upon her knees. And deep human

experience gives the soul a chance to see God; and when Amy came out afterward into the roar of the street,

her face shone like the face of one who has touched the garment hem of the Eternal, and bears back the

The joyous and beautiful day passed; the afternoon was gay with congratulations; but the succession of

friendly calls was fatiguing, and at halfpast five she said, courageously, "Now, dear friends, I'll have to

leave you! It's delightful to hear all these nice things about Tom, but I must go and lie down, or I shall go to

sleep at dinner." So there was more handshaking and gayety, and then, at last, she had the house to herself.

She reflected that it would be well to have a little nap, so that she might be bright and rested for the jubilant

evening;oh, that poem Mr. Bates wanted to see! She had forgotten all about it; she must find it before she

went upstairs. But she must first look into the diningroom to be sure about the candles and flowers and

wineglasses; three kinds of wine tonight! Generally Tom had just his glass of sherry; but tonight! The

economical Amy would have broached the tun of malmsey if she had been able to secure it. The dinner, she

knew, would be good. She had picked out the partridges herself, knowing well, under her calm exterior, that

her market man, looking at her with sidewise, curious eyes, was thinking to himself, "My! and her husband to

be tried for a State's prison offence!" The partridges were superb; and the salmonAmy's eyes sparkled with

joy at the thought of such extravagancesalmon in February! the salmon was perfect; and the salad, the ices,

The diningroom was satisfactory, with its ten friendly chairs drawn up about the sparkling table. And her

best dress was upstairs spread out on the bed, with her slippers and gloves; her flowersTom would bring

her her flowers! She thought to herself that she would wear them, and then put them away with her wedding

bouquet, that had been lying, dry and fragrant, for all these years, with her wedding dress and veil. Sighing

with the joy of it all, she climbed wearily halfway upstairs; then remembered Mr. Bates's poem again, and

went back to the library, with an uneasy look at the hall clock. She would not get much of a nap! And the

chances of the nap lessened still more, because she could not at once find her Commonplace Book, in which

she had copied the poem. Taking out one book after another, she shook her head and looked at her

handsthese shelves were very dusty; that told a housekeeping story that was disgraceful, she said to

herself, gayly. Well, she would look after Jane, now that she could think and breathe again! So, poking about,

pulling out one flexible, leathercovered volume after another, her fate fell upon her....

The book looked like her own Commonplace Book; Tom had more than once given her blankbooks just like

his ownbound in red morocco, with mottled edges, and stamped, "Diary, 18." There was a whole row of

these books on one of the bottom shelves of the bookcase that ran round three sides of the room, and she had

been looking at them, one by one, hurriedly, for she knew she needed that rest upstairs before the company

came. She pulled the books out, impatiently, fluttering the leaves over, and putting them back. One or two

were her own notebooks; but the rest were Tom's memorandaaccounts, notes, etc., etc., back to"Why,

There was one date that caught her eye; she had heard it repeated and repeated in the last few weeks; she had

heard it that very morning in court, when Thomas Fleming had said: "In March, 1887, L. F. Smith paid me in

one check $17,400; $14,400 for a piece of land belonging to the Hammond estate, and $3,000 which he owed

The flexible, redcovered diary marked 1887 drew her hand with the fascination which comes with

remembered pain. Ah! how she had suffered every time that date fell like a scalding drop of fear upon her

heart! It is not true of spiritual pain that one remembereth no more the anguish for joy that a blessing has been

born into the soul! She shivered as she opened the book. It occurred to her, with vague surprise, that this book

would probably have settled the whole matter, if Tom had only remembered it. He had shown in court that

records of that year had been among certain office books burned in the great March fire, when the building in

which he had his office had been destroyed. Yes, this book might have cleared the whole matter up, easily

and quickly, for, as she saw at a glance, here were entries about the Hammond Trust. She forgot her fatigue,

and the nap she ought to have; she forgot the poem altogether; she sat down on the floor, running the pages

over eagerly. It occurred to her, as a climax of the successful day, that she would bring this book out at dinner

(if she could only find something about the $14,400) and show it as her final triumph. Then her eyes fell on

"Received from L. H. Smith, today, $17,400 for Hammond property, in Linden Hill." Then the comment,

"A whacking good price. I hardly expected to get so much." The significance of this brief statement did not

penetrate her joy. She began eagerly to look again for the other figures and then turned back, perplexed.

$17,400 for the Hammond property? Suddenly her eye caught another familiar sum$3,000. Ah, now she

would find it! Yes, verily, so she did.... "Borrowed $3,000 from Hammond Estate to pay back money

Suddenly it seemed to this poor woman, sitting on the floor in the dark corner of the library, her fingers

dusty, her whole slender body tingling with fatigueit seemed as if something fell, shuddering, down and

down, and down in her breast. Strangely enough, this physical recognition informed her soul. She heard

herself speak, as one falling into the unconsciousness of an anesthetic, hears, with vague astonishment, words

faltering unbidden from the lips. "No. No. No," came the body's frightened denial.

It was characteristic of Amy that she sought no loophole of escape. It never occurred to her that there could

be an explanation. There were the figures; and the figures meant the facts. "A certain man named Ananias"

(so, suddenly, the words ran in her mind) "sold a possession... and kept back part of the price."

Suddenly the happenings of the day seemed to blur and run together, and there was a moment, not of

unconsciousness, but of profound indifference. Her capacity for feeling snapped. But when she tried to rise,

her whole being was sick; so sick that again the soul forgot or did not understand, and heard, with dull

curiosity, the body saying, "No. No." She steadied herself by holding on to the bookshelves; and then,

somehow, she got upstairs. It was the sight of the soft, gray dress, with its pretty laces, that stung her awake.

That dress: was it hers? Was she to put it on? Was she to go and sit at the head of that shining table down in

By the time Fleming and his counsel came tramping up from the gate, at a quarter past seven, and stopped

hilariously, to kick the snow off their boots before entering the hall, Amy Fleming had arisen to meet the

summons of Life. She called Jane to fasten her dress, and when the woman, startled and shocked at the

"Oh, good land! what's wrong wi' ye, Mrs. Fleming?" she was able to say, quietly:

"Jane, when Mr. Fleming comes in, tell him I've had to go down to the kitchen to see about some things. And

say I put his dress suit out on the sofa in my room. Tell him the studs are in his shirt."

Jane, silenced, went back to the kitchen. "Say, Mary Ann," she said, "look ahere; there's something the

matter upstairs." The presence of the accommodating waitress checked further confidences; but, indeed, when

Amy Fleming, ghastly, in her pretty dinner dress, sought refuge in the kitchen (the one spot where her

husband would not be apt to pursue her), and stood listening to the voices of the two men going upstairs,

"Jane," her mistress said, "I wish you would open a bottle of champagne; one of the pints, not one of the big

bottles, and givemea glass;" her voice was faint. Jane obeyed hurriedly, and as the cork popped one man

Amy drank the wine and handed the glass back to the anxious woman. "I was feeling faint, Jane. I am all

right now, thank you. Oh, there's the door bell! I'll go into the library." And when the two rather early comers

had taken off their wraps and made their way downstairs again, they found their hostess smiling whitely at

"Oh, Amy dear!" the wife said, dismayed, "what is the matter?" And the husband protested in a friendly way

that he was afraid Mrs. Fleming was tired out. "Of course it has been a wearing week for you, in spite of its

Then Thomas Fleming and his lawyer came downstairs, and there was more handshaking and

congratulations, and it was not until he looked at his wife at dinner that Fleming really saw her face; its

haggard pallor struck him dumb in the midst of some gay story to the pretty neighbor on his right. He had

been dull, just at first, and his gayety was a little forced, but after his first glass of champagne he brightened

up very much, and had begun to tell a funny story. "And so the automobilist," he was sayingand broke off,

staring blankly at Amy. "I'm afraid my wife is not well," he said, anxiously. But the pretty neighbor reassured

"Oh, it's the reaction, Mr. Fleming. Amy has been perfectly splendid; but now, naturally, she feels the

Somehow or other, with its gayety and good fellowship, that dreadful evening passed. When the friendly folk

streamed out into the starry winter night, there was some anxious comment. "How badly she looked!"

But one woman, on her husband's arm, murmured a question: "You don't suppose he could havedone

"I don't know anything about it, Helen. I would bank on Tom Fleming as soon as on any man I know. But I

don't know any man (myself included) who is not human. So, if you ask about 'possibilities'but no!

honestly, as you say, I'm sure Fleming is all right. And his wife is a noble woman. I've always admired Mrs.

"She is the best woman in the world!" Amy's friend said, warmly. But in her own heart she was thinking that

if it came to possibilities, she knew one man to whom wrongdoing was impossible! And, happily, she

When Fleming closed the door upon the last lingering guest, he turned anxiously to his wife. "Amy, I haven't

had a chance to speak to you! You are worn out. Bates, look at hershe's worn out!"

Bates, lounging in the library doorway, agreed. "Indeed she is; Mrs. Fleming, you ought not to have

"It's your fault because you got me off," Fleming said, jocosely. The dulness of the first part of the evening

had quite disappeared; he was rather flushed and inclined to laugh buoyantly at everything; but his face was

"I am going now," she said, pulling and straightening the fingers of her long gloves. "Goodnight, Mr. Rates.

Her husband put his arm about her to help her upstairs, but she drew away. "No; stay down and smoke with

Mr. Bates." Then, as he insisted on coming up with her, she stopped on the first landing, and pushed his arm

Thomas Fleming, dumfounded, could not find his wits for a reply before she had slipped away from him, and

he heard the door of their bedroom close behind her. He stood blankly upon the stairs for a moment, and then

"I never knew Amy so upset," he said, stupidly. And, indeed, there are few things more bewildering than

"It's been a hard week for her," Bates explained, easily. But Fleming smoked morosely; he was plainly

relieved when his guest said he thought he would go to bed. He suggested, in a perfunctory way, a last visit to

the diningroom for a drink of whiskey, and when this was declined, arose with alacrity to conduct the sleepy

"We'll take the eightfifteen in the morning, Bates," he said; and Bates, yawning, agreed.

Fleming went softly into his own room, and was half disappointed, half relieved, to find his wife lying

motionless, with closed eyes. "A good night's sleep will set her up," he thought, tenderly. For himself, he

stopped in the process of pulling off his boots, and, shutting his lips hard together, stared at the floor.

After a while he drew a long breath;"Well, thank the eternal Powers," he said; and pulled off his boots

softlyAmy must have a good night's sleep. Fleming himself had a good night's sleep. That Amy's eyes

opened painfully to the dark, when all the house had sunk into silence, of course he did not know. She

seemed to be sleeping soundly when he awoke the next morning; and again he crept about, not even daring to

kiss her, lest she might be disturbed. Just before he and Bates made a dash for the eight fifteen, he told Jane

to ask Mrs. Fleming to call him up on the telephone when she came downstairs, so he might know how she

As for Amy, when she heard the front door close behind the two hurrying men, she got up and sat wearily on

"Now, I've got time to think," she said. There was a certain relief in the consciousness of silence and of time.

She could think all day; she could think until halfpast six; how many hours? Ten! Ten hoursin which to

"I have never known him," she said feebly to herself. Well, now she must think.... No doubt he had loved her;

she was not questioning that. She was dully indifferent to the whole matter of love. The question was, what

was she going to do? After restitution was made, what was she going to do? How were they to go on living?

Mere restitution(which must be made on Monday. No, Monday was a holiday; they would have to wait

until Tuesday. Oh, how could she bear the delay?) Well, on Tuesday, then, the money would be given to Mr.

Hammond. But mere restitution would not change the fact of what he was. She dropped back against her

Poor soul! She had no thoughts but that one. Over and over the words repeated themselves, until her very

mind was sore. But she did her best; the habit of commonsense was a great help. She had some coffee, and

dressed and went down to the libraryrecoiling, involuntarily, at the sight of that corner where the books

were still in some slight disorder. She even called Jane and bade her bring her duster. When the dusting was

done, she told the woman that she would not see any one, all day. "I have a headache," she explained; "don't

let any one in." And when Jane left her, she drew her little chair up to the hearth; "Now, I'll think," she said.

But her eye caught the flash of sunlight on a crystal ball on the mantelpiece, and it seemed as if her mind

broke into a glimmering kaleidoscope: those partridges had been a little overcooked last night... the gilt on

the narrow, oldfashioned mirror over the mantel was tarnishing... the $3,000 had been "borrowed" from one

Trust to pay another.... Borrowing from Peter to pay Paul.... How clear the crystal was.

Two thefts.... Jane must dust those shelves better.... Then she started with dismayshe was not thinking!

Well, restitution, first of all;on Tuesday. They would sell a bond, and take some money out of the bank.

But after restitution they must go on living. She must try to understand him, to help him to be good, to be

patient with him. "But I don't know him," came over and over the dreadful refrain, checked by the instant

So the day passed. She told Jane to telephone her husband that she was up and feeling better; and he sent

back some anxious messageshe must rest, she must not overdo. He could not, unfortunately, come out on

an early train, as he had hoped to do, being detained by some business matters, so he would have to dine in

town. He would come out on the eightthirty. She grasped at the delay with passionate relief; two hours more

to think. Then it came over her that she was glad not to see him. What did that mean? She wondered, vaguely,

if she had stopped loving him? Not that it made any difference whether she loved him or not. Love had no

meaning to her. "Perhaps this is the way people who are dead feel about us," she thought. Then she wondered

if she hated him, this stranger, thisthief? No, she did not hate him either. But when respect, upon which

love is built, is wrenched away, what happens? There is no love, of course. She thought, vaguely, that she had

pitied Mrs. Hammond. And yet she herself did not care, apparently. How strange not to care! Pulling her

weddingring off, slipping it on, pulling it off again, she said to herself, numbly, that she did not understand

why she did not care. However, she could not go into this question of love and hate. Neither mattered. She

The long, sunny winter afternoon faded into the dusk; a gleam of sunset broke yellow across the pleasant

room, and catching with a glimmering flash on the crystal, melted into a bloom of gray, with the fire, like the

When Fleming came hurriedly up the garden path to his own door, he had to pull out his latchkey to let

himself into the house. This slight happening made him frown; so she was not well enough to come down?

He took off his coat and started immediately upstairs, then he caught sight of her in the library, standing

motionless, her back to the door, one hand resting on the mantelpiece, the other drooping at her side, the

fingers between the pages of a book. He came in quickly, with a gayly derisive laugh.

"You didn't hear me!" Then, as she did not turn, he sobered. "Amy, what is it? Why, Amy! Is there anything

the matter? Is anything wrong?" His face was keenly disturbed, and he put his hand on her shoulder to make

her look at him, but she lifted it away, gently, still keeping her eyes fastened on the fire.

He sat down, blankly, his lowerlip falling open with perplexity. She sighed once, and brushed her hand over

her eyes; then came, quietly, away from the hearth, and, going round the table, stood behind him and laid the

book down beside him. She pressed it open, and in silence ran her finger down the page.

The fire sputtered a little; then everything was still. She had left him, and had gone back to the hearthrug, and

stood as before, one hand on the mantelpiece, the other, listless, at her side. The silence was horrible.

Then, suddenly, Thomas Fleming ripped and tore the pages out of the book, and threw them on the logs: the

quick leap of the flames shone on his white face and his furious eyes. A minute afterward he spoke.

Under that storm of outrageous words she bent and shrunk a little, silently. Once she looked at him with a

When, choking with anger, he paused, she said, briefly, that she had been hunting for her Commonplace

"What the devil were my diaries doing on your lower shelf? One of those damned women of yours

"When we moved they were put there. They had been in your old desk in the other house. They were locked

That next hour left its permanent mark on those two faces; agony and shame were cut into the wincing flesh,

as by some mighty die. At first Fleming was all rage; then rage turned into sullenness, and sullenness to

explanation and excuse. But as he calmed down, shame, an old, old shame, that he had loathed and lived with

for a dozen years, a shame that, except when Amy was too tenderly proud of him, he was sometimes able for

days, or even weeks, to forgetthis old shame reared its deadly head, and looked out of his abased and

shifting eyes. Yet he had his glib excuses and explanations. Amy, in the midst of them, sat down in her little

low chair by the fire. She did not speak. She had her handkerchief in her hand, and kept pulling it out on her

knee; smoothing it; then folding it; and a minute later, spreading it out again. At last, after a labored

statement how he had only borrowed it; how it had been at a time when he had been horribly pressed; how

he had always meant to return it, of course; how, in fact, he had returned it by giving an enormous amount of

work for which he had never had any credit, or any money, either! (though, as it happened, he had never been

in a, position to pay it back in actual cash); after this miserable and futile explanation had been repeated and

repeated, he stopped to get his breath; and then, still pulling the hem of her handkerchief straight on her knee,

"Need we talk about it any more? On Tuesday we will send it back. (Monday is a holiday. You can't send it

She looked up, confusedly. "You can't send it until Tuesday," she repeated, mechanically.

He brought his fist down violently on the table. "I will never send it back! Never! You are insane! Why, it

"It is ruin, anyhow," she said, dully. "Don't you see? The only thing left is restitution."

"I can't make what you call'restitution,' withoutruin; absolute ruin! Do you realize what it would mean

to me, in this town, to have it known that Iborrowed from the Trust, andand had not yet returned it? On

the stand, of course, I had to protect myself; and that would beagainst me. And it would be known.

Hammond would never let it be settled privately! He couldn't prosecute me on the old charge; but I suppose

he might make a claim ofof perjury. Anyhow, just the publicity would ruin me. And he would make it

public. Trust Hammond! Besides, I've given it back ten times over in unpaidfor work to the Estate" He

Sunday was a long day of struggle. The immediate hour of violence was over; he was ashamed; and he loved

her; and he was frightened. But he was immovable. His hardness was worse than his violence.

"I can not do it, Amy; I will not do it. The thing is done. It's over. It's settled. I'm sorry; Iregret it; nobody

regrets it as much as I do. But I will not destroy myself, and destroy youyou, too!by returning it." Then,

Monday, the holiday (and holidays had always been such joy to them; a whole day at home

It was in the afternoon that she suddenly flagged. She had been kneeling beside him, entreating him; and he

had been hard and violent and childish by turns; but he would not. And toward dusk there came a dreadful

pause. Partly, no doubt, it was because she was exhausted; but it was more than that. It was a sudden blasting

consciousness that the man must save or lose his own soul. If she forced him to make restitution, the

restitution would not be his, but hers. If she pushed him into honesty, he would still be dishonest. If he

preferred the mire, he would be filthy if plucked out against his will and set on clean ground. A prisoner in

She drew away and looked at him; then she covered her face with her hands. "I am done," she said, faintly.

The suddenness of her capitulation left him openmouthed. But before he could speak she went away and left

him. He heard her slip the bolt of their bedroom door; and then he heard her step overhead. After that all was

The afternoon was very long; once he went and walked drearily about the snowy lanes, avoiding passersby as

well as he could. But for the most part he sat in the library and tried to read or smoke; but he forgot to turn

over the pages, and he had to keep reaching for a match to relight his cigar. He said to himself that his life

was over. Amy would leave him, of course; she had said as much. Well, he couldn't help it. Better the misery

of a broken home than public shame, and disgrace, and ruin. And he had made restitution (as she called it); he

It was late at night, as he was saying something like this to himself for the hundredth time, that his wife came

back into the room. She stood up in the old place, on the hearthrug. Very gently she told him what she had to

say. She did not look at him; her eyes were fixed on the Japanese crystal resting in its jade bowl on the

mantelpiece; once she took it up, and turned it over and over in the palm of her hand, looking at it intently as

"I have thought it all out," she began in a low voice; "and I see I was wrong" He started. "I was wrong.

You must save your own soul. I can't do it for you. Oh, I would! but I can't. I shall not ever again insist. Yes,

"Please 1I am not through yet. I shall pay the money back, somehow, sometime. (Oh, waitwait; don't

interrupt me!) Of course, I shall not betray you. My paying it shall not tell the truth, because, unless the truth

is from you, it can not help you. It must be your truth, not mine. But I shall save, and save, and save, and pay

it backto clear my own soul. For II have lived on that three thousand dollars too," she said with a sick

look. She put the crystal back into its bowl. "It will takea long time," she said, faintly.

She stopped, trembling from the effort of so many calm words. Thomas Fleming, looking doggedly at the

"Get a separation?" she glanced at him for an instant. "Why, we are separated," she said. "We can't be any

more separated than we are. I suppose we have never been together. But I won't leave you, if that is what you

"Why, no," she said, slowly; "I don't think I despise you. I don't think I do. But of course" She looked

"Of course," he said, roughly, "you don't love me; but" His voice faltered into a sort of question.

She turned sharply from him, hiding her face in her arm, moving blindly, with one hand stretched out to feel

And at that he broke.... Poor, weak Love, poor Love that would have denied itself for very shame; Love

brought him to his knees; his arms around her waist, his head against her breast, his tears on her hand.