"And you married her?" she asked in even tones.

"I have never allowed her to know that I love her."

"Why?"

"She was married."

Mary threw him a startled look and he went on evenly:

"I could have used my power over mind and body to separate her from her husband. I confess that I was tempted. But there was a child. Their union had been sealed with the strongest tie that can bind two human beings. I have never allowed her to realize that she might love me. Had I chosen to break the silence between us I could have revealed this to her, taken her and torn her from the man to whom she had borne a babe.

I had no right to commit that crime, no matter how deep the love that cried for its own. Marriage is based on the period of infancy of the child which spans the maternal life of woman. God had joined these two people together and no man had the right to put them asunder!"

"And you gave her up?"

"I had to, little mother. On the recognition of this eternal law the whole structure of our civilization rests."

Mary bent her gaze steadily on his face for a moment in silence.

"And you are telling me that I should be reconciled to the man who choked me into insensibility?"

"I am telling you that he is the father of your son--that he has rights which you cannot deny; that when you gave yourself to him in the first impulse of love a deed was done which Almighty God can never undo.

Your tragic blunder was the rush into marriage with a man about whose character you knew so little. It's the timid, shrinking, home-loving girl that makes this mistake. You must face it now. You are responsible as deeply and truly as the man who married you. That he happened at that moment to be a brute and a criminal is no more his fault than yours. It was YOUR business to KNOW before you made him the father of your child."

"I tried to appeal to his better nature that awful night," Mary interrupted, "but he only laughed at me!"

"You owe him another trial, little mother--you owe it to his boy, too."

Mary shook her head bitterly.

"I can't--I just can't!"

"You won't see him once?"

She sprang to her feet trembling.

"No--no!"

"I don't think it's fair."

"I'm afraid of him! You can't understand his power over my will."

"Come, come, this is sheer cowardice--give the devil his dues. Face him and fight it out. Tell him you're done forever with him and his life, if you will--but don't hedge and trim and run away like this. I'm ashamed of you."

"I won't see him--I've made up my mind."

The Doctor threw up both hands.

"All right. If you won't, you won't. We'll let it go at that."

He paused and changed his tones to friendly personal interest.

"And you're determined to leave me and take my kid away tomorrow?"

"We must go. I've no money to pay my board. I can't impose on you----"

"It's going to be awfully lonely."

He looked at her with a strange, deep gaze, lifted his stooping shoulders with sudden resolution and changed his manner to light banter.

"I suppose I couldn't persuade you to give me that boy?"

She smiled tenderly.

"You know his father did leave his mark on him after all! The eyes are all his. Of course, I will admit that those drooping lids have often been the mark of genius--perhaps a genius for evil in this case. If you don't want to take the risk--now's your chance. I will----"

Mary shook her head in reproachful protest.

"Don't tease me, dear doctor man. I've just this one day more with you.

I'm counting each precious hour."

"Forgive me!" he cried gayly. "I won't tease you any more. Come, we'll run over now and see our neighbor's new bungalow before you go. You admire this one and threaten to duplicate it. He has built a better one."

"I don't believe it."

"You'll go?"

"If you wish it----"

"Good. We'll take the boy, too. He can drive his new wagon the whole way. It's only half a mile."

CHAPTER XXIX. THE NEW MAN

The door of the bungalow stood wide open. Mary paused in rapture over the rich beds of wood violets that carpeted the spaces between the drive and the log walls.

"Aren't they beautiful!" she cried. "A perfect carpet of dazzling green and purple!"

"Come right in," the Doctor urged from the steps. "My neighbor's a patient of mine. He hasn't moved in yet but he told me always to make myself at home."

Mary lifted the boy from his wagon, tied the goat and led the child into the house. The Doctor showed her through without comment. None was needed. The woman's keen eye saw at a glance the perfection of care with which the master builder had wrought the slightest detail of every room. The floors were immaculate native hard-wood--its grain brought out through shining mirrors of clean varnish. There was not one shoddy piece of work from the kitchen sink to the big open fireplace in the spacious hall and living-room.

"It's exquisite!" she exclaimed at last. "It seems all hand-made--doesn't it?"

"It is, too. The owner literally built it with his own hands--a work of love."

"For himself?" Mary asked with a smile.