the next day came, bright and sweet.

the ship was to sail at noon.

at ten o'clock the farewells were being said. there were tears and heartaches, and there was fierce rebellion in the hearts of two of the voyagers. yvonne had declined to go to the pier to see them off, and brood was going away without a word to her about the future. that was manifest to the anxious, soul-tried watchers.

in silence they made their way out to the waiting automobile. as brood was about to pass through the broad front door a resolute figure confronted him. for a moment master and man stared hard into each other's eyes, and then, as if obeying an inflexible command, the former turned to glance backward into the hallway. yvonne was standing in the library door.

“sahib!” said the hindu, and there was strange authority in his voice. “tell her, sahib. it is not so cruel to tell her as it would be to go away without a word. she is waiting to be told that you do not want her to remain in your home.”

brood closed his eyes for a second, and then strode quickly toward his wife.

“yvonne, they all want me to take you along with us,” he said, his voice shaking with the pent-up emotion of weeks.

she met his gaze calmly, almost serenely.

“but, of course, it is quite impossible,” she said. “i understand, james.”

“it is not possible,” he said, steadying his voice with an effort.

“that is why i thought it would be better to say good-bye here and not at the pier. we must have some respect for appearances, you know.”

he searched her eyes intently, looking for some sign of weakening on her part. he did not know whether to feel disappointed or angry at what he saw.

“i don't believe you would have gone if i had——”

“you need not say it, james. you did not ask me, and i have not asked anything of you.”

“before i go,” he said nervously, “i want to say this to you: i have no feeling of resentment toward you. i am able to look back upon what you would have done without a single thought of anger. you have stood by me in time of trouble. i owe a great deal to you, yvonne. you will not accept my gratitude—it would be a farce to offer it to you under the circumstances. but i want you to know that i am grateful. you———”

“go on, please. this is the moment for you to say that your home cannot be mine. i am expecting it.”

his eyes hardened.

“i shall never say that to you, yvonne. you are my wife. i shall expect you to remain my wife to the very end.”

now, for the first time, her eyes flew open with surprise. a bewildered expression came into them almost at once. he had said the thing she least expected. she put out her hand to steady herself against the door.

“do—do you mean that, james?” she said wonderingly.

“you are my property. you are bound to me. i do not intend that you shall ever forget that, yvonne. i don't believe you really love me, but that is not the point. other women have not loved their husbands, and yet—yet they have been true and loyal to them.”

“you amaze me!” she cried, watching his eyes with acute wonder in her own. “suppose that i should refuse to abide by your—what shall i call it?”

“decision is the word,” he supplied grimly.

“well, what then?”

“you will abide by it, that's all. i am leaving you behind without the slightest fear for the future. this is your home. you will not abandon it.”

“have i said that i would?”

“no.”

she drew herself up.

“well, i shall now tell you what i intend to do, and have intended to do ever since i discovered that i could think for myself and not for matilde. i intend to stay here until you turn me out as unworthy. i love you, james. you may leave me here feeling very sure of that. i shall go on caring for you all the rest of my life. i am not telling you this in the hope that you will say that you have a spark of love in your soul for me. i don't want you to say it now, james. but you will say it to me one day, and i will be justified in my own heart.”

“i have loved you. there was never in this world anything like the love i had for you. i know it now. it was not matilde i loved when i held you in my arms. i know it now. i loved you; i loved your body, your soul———”

“enough!” she cried out sharply. “i was playing at love then. now i love in earnest. you've never known love such as i can really give. i know you well, too. you love nobly, and without end. of late i have come to believe that matilde could have won out against your folly if she had been stronger, less conscious of the pain she felt. if she had stood her ground, here, against you, you would have been conquered. but she did not have the strength to stand and fight as i would have fought. to-day i love my sister none the less, but i no longer fight to avenge her wrongs. i am here to fight for myself. you may go away thinking that i am a traitor to her, but you will take with you the conviction that i am honest, and that is the foundation for my claim against you.”

“i know you are not a traitor to her cause,” he replied. “you are its lifelong supporter. you have done more for matilde than———”

“than matilde could have done for herself? isn't that true? i have forced you to confess that you loved her for twenty-five years with all your soul. i have done my duty for her. now i am beginning to take myself into account. some day we will meet again and—well, it will not be disloyalty to matilde that moves you to say that you love me.”

he was silent for a long time. when at last he spoke his voice was full of gentleness.

“i do not love you, yvonne. i cannot allow you to look forward to the happy ending that you picture. you say that you love me. i shall give you the opportunity to prove it to yourself, if not to me. i order you, thérèse, to remain in this house until i come to set you free.”

she stared at him for a moment, and then an odd smile came into her eyes.

“a prisoner serving her time? is that it, my husband?”

“if you are here when i return, i shall have reason to believe that your love is real, that it is good and true and enduring. i am afraid of you now. i do not trust you.”

“is that your sentence?”

“call it that if you like, thérèse.”

“my keepers? who are they to be? the old men of the sea——”

“your keeper will be the thing you call love,” said he.

“do you expect me to submit to this———”

he held up his hand.

“i did not intend to impose this condition upon you by word of mouth. i was going away without a word, but you would have received from mr dawes a sealed envelope as soon as the ship sailed. it contains this command in writing. he will hand it to you, of course, but now that you know the contents it will not be necessary to———”

“and when you do come back, am i to hope for something more than your pardon and a release?” she cried.

“i will not promise anything,” said he.

she drew a long breath and there was the light of triumph in her eyes. laying her slim hand on his arm, she said:

“i am content, james. i am sure of you now. you will find me here when you choose to come back, be it one year or twenty. now go; they are waiting for you. be kind to them, and tell to them all that you have just told me. it will make them happy. they love me, you see.”

“yes, they do love you,” said he, putting his hands upon her shoulders. they smiled into each other's eyes. “good-bye, thérèse. i will return.”

“good-bye, james. no, do not kiss me. it would be mockery. good luck, and god speed you home again.” their hands met in a warm, firm clasp. “i will go with you as far as the door of my prison.”

from the open door she smiled out upon the young people in the motor and waved her handkerchief in gay farewell. then she closed the door and walked slowly down the hallway to the big library.

“he has taken the only way to conquer himself,” she mused, half aloud. “he is a wise man, a very wise man. i might have expected this of him.”

she pulled the bell-cord, and jones came at once to the room.

“yes, madam.”

“when mr dawes and mr riggs return from the ship, tell them that i shall expect them to have luncheon with me. that's all, thank you.”

“yes, madam.”

“by the way, jones, you may always set the table for three.”

jones blinked. he felt that he had never behaved so wonderfully in all the years of service as he did when he succeeded in bowing in his habitual manner, despite the fact that he was “everlawstingly bowled over, so to speak.”

“for three, madam. very well.”

a cold, blustery night in january, six months after the beginning of yvonne's voluntary servitude in the prison to which her husband had committed her. in the big library, before a roaring fire, sat the two old men, very much as they had sat on the december night that heralded the approach of the new mistress of the house of brood, except that on this occasion they were eminently sober. on the corner of the table lay a long, yellow envelope, a cablegram addressed to mrs james brood.

“it's been here for two hours, and she don't even think of opening it to see what's inside,” complained mr riggs, but entirely without reproach.

“it's her business, joe,” said mr dawes, pulling hard at his cigar.

“maybe someone's dead,” said mr riggs dolorously.

“like as not, but what of it?”

“what of it, you infernal—but, excuse me, danbury, i won't say it. it's against the rules, god bless 'em. if anybody's dead, she ought to know it.”

“but supposing nobody is dead.”

“there's no use arguing with you.”

“she'll read it when she gets good and ready. at present she prefers to read the letters from freddy and lyddy.”

“maybe it's from jim,” said his friend, a wistful look in his old eyes.

“i—i hope it is, by gee!” exclaimed the other, and then they got up and went over to examine the envelope for the tenth time. “i wish he'd telegraph or write, or do something, dan. she's never had a line from him. maybe this is something at last.”

“what puzzles me is that she always seems disappointed when there's nothing in the post from him, and here's a cablegram that might be the very thing she's looking for, and she pays no attention to it. it certainly beats me.”

“you know what puzzles me more than anything else? i've said it a hundred times. she never goes outside this here house, except in the garden, day or night.”

“sh—h!”

mrs brood was descending the stairs, lightly, eagerly. in another instant she entered the room.

“how nice the fire looks!” she cried. never had she been more radiantly, seductively beautiful. “my cablegram, where is it?”

the old men made a simultaneous dash for the long-neglected envelope. mr dawes succeeded in being the first to clutch it in his eager fingers.

“better read it, mrs brood,” he panted, thrusting it into her hand. “maybe it's bad news.”

she regarded him with one of her most mysterious smiles.

“no, my friend, it is not bad news. it is good news; it's from my husband.”

“but you haven't read it,” gasped mr riggs.

“ah, but i know, just the same.” she deliberately slit the envelope with a slim finger and held it out to them. “read it if you like.”

they solemnly shook their heads, too amazed for words. she unfolded the sheet and sent her eyes swiftly over the printed contents. then, to their further stupefaction, she pressed the bit of paper to her red lips. her eyes flashed like diamonds.

“listen! here is what he says: 'come by the first steamer. i want you to come to me, thérèse.' and see! it is signed 'your husband.'”

“hurray!” shouted the two old men.

“but,” she said, shaking her head slowly, “i shall not obey.”

“what! you—you won't go?” gasped mr riggs.

“no!” she cried, the ring of triumph in her voice. she suddenly clapped her hands to her breast and uttered a long, deep sigh of joy. “no, i shall not go to him.”

the old men stared helplessly while she sank luxuriously into a big chair and stuck her little feet out to the fire. they felt their knees grow weak under the weight of their suddenly inert bodies.

“he will come and unlock the door,” she went on serenely. “ring for jones, please.”

“wha—what are you going to do?” mr dawes had the temerity to ask.

“send a cablegram to my husband saying———”

she paused to smile at the flaming logs on the broad hearth, a sweet, rapturous smile that neither of the old men could comprehend.

“saying—what?” demanded mr riggs anxiously.

“that i cannot go to him,” she said, as she stretched out her arms toward the east.