The screen in the doorway moved gently once or twice in the breeze, and each time Willems started slightly, expecting his wife, but he never lifted his eyes, although straining his ears for the sound of her footsteps.

Gradually he lost himself in his thoughts, in the endless speculation as to the manner in which she would receive his news--and his orders.

In this preoccupation he almost forgot the fear of her presence.

No doubt she will cry, she will lament, she will be helpless and frightened and passive as ever.

And he would have to drag that limp weight on and on through the darkness of a spoiled life.