them more than the whole world,' she went on in a quieter voice, ' and I want you to learn to love them too. Ah! you won't be long in doing it either, when you have been living with them a little while.'

Anger and bewilderment struggled together in Gwilym's breast, but for the moment the latter feeling was predominant. He put his hand to his forehead as though to calm the fever that throbbed within it.

'Children-children-' he said; then, in a low, broken voice, 'your children-what have they to do with me? I do not understand all this, I do not understand-,' he paused, struggling with a faint memory. 'I seem to remember words spoken concerning these things," and her husband and her children shall call her blessed "who was it saying that to me and I objecting? Ah! David Davies it was-he can explain-' he turned quickly, but David had vanished.

That astute old gentleman was at this moment hobbling rapidly up the street to his own quarters. Even more than he loved a good dinner or a pretty girl did he hate a scene.' scene.' He had fled at the first signs of the impending conflict, and, as he fled, he mentally cursed the whole race of womankind for their obstinacy and impulsiveness.

And Gwilym saw in David's abrupt departure an acknowledgment of something wrong, of some disagreeable fact in connection with his newly-made wife, of which David-his friend and adviser-had all along been cognisant. 'Wise in his own conceit,' poor fellow, he hated to think he had been deceived, and it was with fresh anger and suspicion in his eyes that he regarded the woman who had brought this trouble to him. He was yet far from guessing the true conditions of her former life.

I wish to

He came forward into the room, shutting the door. 'Send those children away,' he said, in his harshest voice. speak to you, and I cannot speak in their presence.'

'You can say what you please before them,' she answered; they will understand but little and I will not send them away.' His eyes darkened with anger. That is just what I will have you do,' he cried, 'send them away, now and for always. I will not have children in my house or in my life; I have suffered too much from them, I will not suffer again. You have deceived me, deceived me shamefully, you and David Davies, for I am sure he knew too that you had been married before-'

Hannah gave a short laugh—a disagreeable, ugly little laugh -at his words.

'Yes, he knew, too, that I had been-married before,' she said, and that I had Evan and Jenny, but he said not to tell you-at first."

'He said not to tell me,' repeated Gwilym; 'ah, a false friend indeed, and you-you wished to tell me then?' His voice softened as he put the query.

'Yes, yes,' cried Hannah, quick to seize upon her chance, her hope of forgiveness. I was always wanting to tell you that I was a widow, and to show them to you, but he, he prevented me all the while and he would not tell me why. I felt it was wrong to deceive you, but he would not let me tell.'

'I will never forgive him, never,' cried Gwilym bitterly. 'I will never speak to him again, I will never make another friend. So have I always found it, men and women are false to each other-always, always.' He was silent again for a few moments. Doubt mingled with hope in Hannah's breast. The children ceased from their sobbing, and, reassured by the silence of their elders, left their mother's side to return to their play. Their movement brought Gwilym back to the present with its difficulties.

'Go, both of you, and sit on that chair,' he commanded, and as the frightened children obeyed he turned to their mother who had again started up. 'Sit down,' he continued, and listen to me. You are my wife, Hannah Williams, and you have to obey me, remember that. You must tell me now, what did you do with these children when you were the servant to Mr. Jones, Trefnant? With whom did you leave them?'

'With Mrs. Morgan, St. Mary Street,' murmured Hannah, 'they have been with her since a year. I could not have them with me and I in service.'

'You were well satisfied, then, with Mrs. Morgan, that you left them with her all that time?'

'Yes,' said Hannah, wondering to what end these questions were asked, 'but-'

'Do not interrupt me,' he said sternly, 'you said yes, Da iawn, then the thing will settle itself. I will forgive you your deceit, Hannah, and allow you to live here with me. But for these children, they must return to Mrs. Morgan, St. Mary Street. There is no place for them here. No,' as Hannah would have again interrupted, 'I say it again. There is no place for them here, and I will not have them. You can go to see them there; yes, sometimes you can go to see them. Only do not bring them here to spoil my books and make me angry and unhappy, that I will not have; I want comfort and quiet and ease in my old age, and why should I not have it? Dia'r anwyl, why should I not have it?' The last words were shouted at the top of his voice, while Hannah sat as if turned to stone and Jenny recommenced her frightened sobbing.

'I go now to my work,' he added more quietly; see that

VOL. LXXII-No. 426

2 B

all is orderly here when I return in the evening.' And so saying he left the room, closing the door with a determined bang.

It was opened again soon after and the face of Mrs. Jones peered in upon the tragic little group within. On her way to announce that the feast was ready she had met David and gathered a faint idea of the state of affairs.

The dinner is spoiling, Mrs. Rhys,' she said. Are you and Mr. Rhys not coming?

'Mr. Rhys is gone out,' answered Hannah, rousing herself from her torpor, and I, I am not wanting to eat, Mrs. Jones.' 'But the children,' queried the disappointed Mrs. Jones, 'they will be hungering for their dinner, whatever.'

'Yes indeed; come then, dearies,' said Hannah, with a feeling of remorse at her forgetfulness, we will be going to dinner.'

Five minutes later the two were seated at the table with napkins tied round their necks and eyes glistening eagerly at the good things spread out before them. Unbidden and forbidden guests though they were, the marriage baked meats tasted sweet in their mouths, and even their mother's tragic face and empty plate could not spoil their childish pleasure.

In half an hour the three returned to the untidy sitting-room, and, putting Jenny to lie down on the bed in the inner room, and telling Evan to stay with her, Hannah set about restoring order out of the chaos surrounding her. But there was no quickness or willingness in the way in which she set about it. Her heart was like lead in her breast, her feet dragged heavily, her hands trembled.

Eden had vanished. Despair sat in her heavy eyes. A dull hatred of the man to whom she had irrevocably tied herself began to stir within her. No hope of his relenting in his determination occurred to her. To-day, to-morrow, for ever she saw herself separated from her children, devoting herself to the care of a soured, harsh, ailing old man.

'Ach-y-fi! What shall I do, what shall I do?' her sick imagination cried within her. If life is to be always like this how can I bear it? Mrs. Morgan will go and what will become of them? Who is there I can trust to help me and the children?' Wild thoughts of a bed in the river for herself and the little ones. whom 'nobody wanted' came to her. But she stifled the thought and, trembling at the horror of it, she opened the door of the bedroom to revive herself with a sight of her treasures. Jenny was not asleep. Evan sat upon the foot of the bed, and both children were absorbed in something which lay upon it. A clink as of coins struck on Hannah's ear and she walked up to the bed to see what they were doing. 'Oh, mammy,' said Evan,

raising a flushed face to her, 'look at the pretty counters I have found under the floor, a whole bagful, mammy! May we have them to roll about and play with? Look, what a lot of them!' Sovereigns, golden sovereigns! A great glittering heap of sovereigns lying on the dingy counterpane of the dingy lodginghouse bedroom!

'Pretty, pretty,' babbled Jenny, plunging her fat hands into the shining mass and holding a heap aloft for her mother's inspection, and she shrieked with joy as they trickled through her tiny fingers and fell clinking on to the pile beneath.

Hannah quickly put her hands upon the baby ones of her little daughter. 'Take care, take care, darling,' she cried. Thou wilt be losing them. Dia'r anwyl. This is money, golden sovereigns. Where didst find them, Evan bach?'

'In the floor, Mham, yonder,' replied the boy; 'see,' and he would have pulled his mother to look at the curious hole in the floor he had found-the hiding-place where Gwilym Rhys had successfully concealed his little hoard of life-savings.

But Hannah resisted the boy's endeavour. She sat down on the bed, and picking up the bag which had been thrown aside by the excited children, she began to count the sovereigns one by one into it.

' Search, Evan, if any have fallen on the floor,' she said to the boy, and don't interrupt mother, darlings, till she has finished counting.'

Evan, after a perfunctory dive under the bed and the discovery of two more golden counters,' joined his sister in breathlessly watching the fall of coin after coin from their mother's hand into the bag.

'A hundred and seventeen-a hundred and eighteen-and with Evan's two-give them to me, bachgen-a hundred and twenty.'

Hannah dropped the last coin into the bag, and began to tie it up. Her movements were slow, her fingers bungled at the tying of the knot, but thoughts were flying through her brain at lightning pace.

One hundred and twenty pounds, infinite wealth in her unaccustomed eyes, lying here, solid and tangible, grasped in her hands!

One hundred and twenty pounds, why, what was there that could not be done with wealth like this? Everything, everything that her heart desired, of that she was sure. The cottage -all her own-comfort and plenty for her darlings, good clothes, good food, education, their mother's constant care. And later a little something to start Evan on his career in life; yes, that too could be managed, she would be careful of her wealth-in

her mind she already called it hers-would hoard it after the first necessary outlay, and she would work, oh! there would be no limit to the work she could do for them. Did a voice whisper to her that it was a cruel wrong to take the old man's money? She stifled the whisper; hereafter she might be called to account for it, let the matter rest till then; now, now was the time to act to secure their futures, and what was the welfare of an old man at the end of life in comparison with that of these little ones with all their lives before them?

The power to help them was in her hands now, perish the voice of conscience! She would keep that power and use it.

Grasping the bag of money she rose from the bed, and going into the sitting-room she pushed it deep down into the little wooden box which held all her worldly goods.

She looked at the clock on the mantelpiece; there would be time to catch the afternoon train to Portmaelgwn, the seaport town at the terminus of the local railway. That would be far enough to go, none knew her there, and there would be little fear of discovery. She listened on the stairs, all was silent in the house. Mrs. Jones had doubtless gone out to regale her neighbours with the events of the morning.

She hurried the children into their outdoor clothes; pleased and excited at the prospect of going in a train with Mammy, they forgot all about the pretty playthings she had taken from them and chattered eagerly of the wonders they would be seeing ' on the railway.'

They left the house unmarked by anyone, Hannah carrying the box, and reached the station just as the train puffed in. It was 'market-day' and there was the usual crowd on the small platform, so no one noticed them in the bustle and confusion. They managed to secure seats in a carriage which was filled with strangers, and in a few moments were steaming away to peace, plenty and happiness together.

At the usual hour Gwilym locked up the library and turned his steps homeward.

Following on some hours of agitated thought a gentler mood had come to him. The first stirrings of affection in his dry and warped nature had perhaps already taught him something of the pathos of love. The recollection of Hannah's wild defence of her offspring, the expression of stony despair in the eyes that had always hitherto been sparkling with merriment, made him feel anxious and uncomfortable. And women are such strange creatures,' he thought to himself, 'so at least I was always hearing. It is necessary to go quietly with them, they say. Duw anwyl, and I can believe it after this morning! Well, she