The Translation of a Savage, Complete

s to be tete-a-tete with one's conscience. A man may have a bad hour with an enemy, a sad hour with a friend, a peaceful hour with himself, but when the little dwarf, con

under some strange spell. Once or twice he rose, rubbed his eyes, and looked round the room-the room where as a boy he had spent idle hours, where as a student he had been in the hands of his tutor, and as a young man had found recreations such as belong to ambitious and ardent youth. Every corner was familiar. Nothing was changed. The books upon the shelves were as they were pla

it was but just that he should reap the whirlwind; he had scattered thistles, could he expect to gather grapes? He knew that the sympathy of all his father's house was not with him, but with the woman he had wronged. He was glad it was so. Looking back now, it seemed so poor and paltry a thing that he, a man, should stoop to revenge himself upon those who had given him birth, as a kind of insult to the woma

n was shining full on the Square. He wondered if it would be well for him to go out and find some quiet to his nerves in walking. He did so. Out in the Square he looked up to his wife's window. It was lighted. Long time he walked up and down, his eyes on the window. It held him like a charm. Once he leaned against the iron railings of the garden and looked up, not moving for a time. Presently he saw the curtain of the window raised, and against the dim light of the room was outlined the figure of his wife. He knew it. She stood for a moment lo

rs' drive. He had left the horses at the stables, and, having a latch-key, had come in quietly. He had seen the light in the study, and guessed who was there. He entered, and saw his brother asleep. He watched him for a moment and studied him. Then he moved away to take off his hat, a

d silent for a moment longer, and then Richard recovered himself. He waved his hand to the chairs. The strain of

ottles and unopened boxes? Tut, tut! here's a pretty how-d'ye-do. Is this

o drink or smoke himself, but a man-an Englishman-is a strange creature. He is most natural and at ease when he is engaged in eating and

o? You have played the adventurer for five years, and what have you to show for it? Have you a fortu

ended to do, Dick,"

have seen them, have you?"

ace, and through it he said: "Yes, I have see

see, in another direction you are getting quite what you

y word for it, you have had a lot of luck. There isn't one woman out of ten thousand that would have stood the test as your wife has stood it; injured at the start, constant neglect, temptation-" he paused. "My boy, did you ever think of that, of the temptatio

y, I've thought it all over to-night since I came back-everything that you've said. I have not a word of defence to make, but,

ike to hear you talk that way. You would be very foo

I think? He is a sp

rejoinder. Frank winced. His brother rose, took his arm, and said: "Let us go to our ro

e bit of cynicism which had appeared in that remark about the care of the child showed also in the lines of his mouth; yet his eyes had the same old true, hone

See, Frank," he said, "it is morning." Then he went and lifted the blind. The grey, unpurged air oozed on the glass. The light was breaking over the tops of the houses. A c

y, "you look old. I wonder

Armour would have said ha

reply. "But I am a good deal older than I wa