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HYLAND 'Ended!' said she. 'How ended?' And somehow her voice sounded to her as her mother's voice had when she stood there and questioned her sisters about the little room. She seemed to have to drag her words out. She spoke slowly: 'It seems to me to have only just begun in my case. It was just so with mother when she— ' 'I really wish, Margaret, you would let it drop. I don't like to hear you speak of your mother in connection with it. It— ' He hesitat- ed, for was not this their wedding-day? 'It doesn't seem quite the thing, quite delicate, you know, to use her name in the matter.' She saw it all now: he didn't believe her. She felt a chill sense of withering under his glance. 'Come,' he added, 'let us go out, or into the dining-room, some- where, anywhere, only drop this nonsense.' He went out; he did not take her hand now—he was vexed, baffled, hurt. Had he not given her his sympathy, his attention, his belief— and his hand?— and she was fooling him. What did it mean?— she so truthful, so free from morbidness— a thing he hated. He walked up and down under the poplars, trying to get into the mood to go and join her in the house. Margaret heard him go out; then she turned and shook the shelves; she reached her hand behind them and tried to push the boards away; she ran out of the house on to the north side and tried to find in the darkness, with her hands, a door, or some steps leading to one. She tore her dress on the old rose-trees, she fell and rose and stumbled,t hen she sat down on the ground and tried to think. What could she think— was she dreaming? She went into the house and out into the kitchen, and begged