Part 25 (1/2)

”I am so miserable,” said Mariana, moistening a towel to remove the traces of milk that she had upset upon her wrapper. ”What can we do?”

With a feverish gesture she brushed her heavy and disordered hair from her brow and shook her head helplessly. ”Monday is the first of June,”

she added.

Anthony listened almost stolidly. When he spoke there was a dogged decision in his voice. ”The money must be had,” he answered. ”G.o.d knows, I believe I'd steal it if I'd half a chance!”

”Then we'd all go to prison,” remarked Mariana, ruefully, as she measured the coffee into the coffee-pot.

Algarcife smiled with a quick sense of humor. ”At any rate, a livelihood would be insured,” he returned. ”Honest industry is the only thing that goes a-begging in this philanthropic century.” Then, as Mariana returned to the baby, he drank his coffee in silence and went out. As a beginning, he secured an order to write hygienic articles for a Sunday newspaper. Then he called upon Father Speares and found that he was out of town, and even in his desperation was conscious of a sensation of relief at the thought that Father Speares was beyond appeal. But the sensation was reactionary, and, upon consulting the weather bulletin and finding that a change in temperature was expected, he wrote a letter, which he left at the clergyman's house.

”How is Isolde?” he asked of Mariana an hour later.

Mariana smiled and raised her finger warningly. ”Much brighter to-day,”

she answered, ”and sleeping sweetly.”

Anthony bent over the crib, holding his breath as he watched the child.

He noticed that she looked thinner; the blue veins showed in a delicate tracery upon the forehead, and the crease around the tiny wrists was less deep.

Mariana, serious and careworn, leaned upon the opposite side.

”What do you think?” she whispered.

”Only a little pale,” he replied; ”all children are when teething, I suppose.”

They went into the next room and sat down, leaving the door ajar.

”The doctor was here again,” began Mariana, playing with the folds of her gown. ”June is the dangerous month--he says so.”

Algarcife raised his eyes and looked at her.

”I wrote to Father Speares to-day,” he said.

For a moment Mariana was silent, a flush rising to her brow. Then she rose and came over to his side, putting her arms about his neck.

”My poor love,” she murmured. Anthony drew her down upon the sofa beside him.

”It was tough,” he said, slowly, ”but--how I hate to tell you, Mariana!--there is something else.”

Mariana flinched sharply.

”Surely he has not refused?” she exclaimed.

”He is away, but the College has given me notice.”

Mariana did not answer, but she grew white and her lips trembled. Then she flung her arms out upon the sofa and laid her head upon them. Her sobs came short and fast.

”Mariana!”

She lifted her head and choked back her tears, sitting cold and stiff beside him.