"Weary wind, who wanderest
Like the world's rejected guest,
Hast thou still some secret nest
On the tree or billow?"
Euphrasia laid the volume tenderly on the shelf, and turned and faced
Victoria.
"She was unhappy like that before she died," she exclaimed, and added, with a fling of her head towards the front of the house, "he killed her."
"Oh, no!" cried Victoria, involuntarily rising to her feet. "Oh, no! I'm sure he didn't mean to. He didn't understand her!"
"He killed her," Euphrasia repeated. "Why didn't he understand her? She was just as simple as a child, and just as trusting, and just as loving. He made her unhappy, and now he's driven her son out of her house, and made him unhappy. He's all of her I have left, and I won't see him unhappy."
Victoria summoned her courage.
"Don't you think," she asked bravely, "that Mr. Austen Vane ought to be told that his father is—in this condition?"
"No," said Euphrasia, determinedly. "Hilary will have to send for him.
This time it'll be Austen's victory."
"But hasn't he had—a victory?" Victoria persisted earnestly. "Isn't this—victory enough?"
"What do you mean?" Euphrasia cried sharply.