there—it's all right." She pressed the hand softly, her face glowing under the candle-light with some soft emotion.
Farrell withdrew his arm gently.
"Have some more wine, dear," said his wife.
She raised the bottle, and was replenishing his glass when he pushed it roughly aside.
"No more," he said shortly, "no more."
The wound broke open in his conscience, red and raw. The peace which had gathered upon him lifted; he was shaken into fears and tremors, and that devilish memory, which had retired so far, came back upon him, urgent and instant, proclaiming him a coward and a scoundrel. He sat silent and disturbed, with his eyes upon the crumbs, among which his fingers were playing restlessly. Letty rose, and passed to the window.
"How dark it has fallen!" she said, peeping through the blinds, "and the rain is pelting so hard. I'm glad I'm not out. How cold it is! Do stir the fire, dearest."
Farrell rose, and went to the chimneypiece. He struck the poker through the crust of coal, and the flames leapt forth and roared about the pieces. The heat burned in his face. There came upon him unbidden the recollection of those days, a year ago, when he and Letty had nestled side by side, watching for fortunes in the masses of that golden core. She had seen palaces and stately domes; her richer imagination culled histories from the glowing embers; while he, searching and searching in vain, had been content to receive her fancies and sit by simply with his arm about her. The thought touched him to a smile as he mused in the flood of the warmth.
Letty still stood peering out upon the street, and her voice came to him, muffled, from behind the curtain.
"Oh, those poor creatures! How cold and how wet they must
