Chapter 5

A STRANGE DELUSION.

Trevennack and his wife sat alone that night in their bare rooms at
Gunwalloe. Cleer had gone out to see some girls of her acquaintance
who were lodging close by in a fisherman's house; and the husband and
wife were left for a few hours by themselves together.

"Michael," Mrs. Trevennack began, as soon as they were alone, rising
up from her chair and coming over toward him tenderly, "I was horribly
afraid you were going to break out before those two young men on the
cliff to-day. I saw you were just on the very brink of it. But you
resisted bravely. Thank you so much for that. You're a dear good
fellow. I was so pleased with you and so proud of you."

"Break out about our poor boy?" Trevennack asked, with a dreamy air,
passing his bronzed hand wearily across his high white forehead.

His wife seated herself sideways upon the arm of his chair, and bent
over him as he sat, with wifely confidence. "No, no, dear," she said,
taking his hand in hers and soothing it with her soft palm. "About--
YOU know--well, of course, that other thing."

At the mere hint, Trevennack leaned back and drew himself up proudly
to his full height, like a soldier. He looked majestic as he sat
there--every inch a St. Michael. "Well, it's hard to keep such a
secret," he answered, laying his free hand on his breast, "hard to
keep such a secret; and I own, when they were talking about it, I
longed to tell them. But for Cleer's sake I refrained, Lucy. For
Cleer's sake I always refrain. You're quite right about that. I know,
of course, for Cleer's sake I must keep it locked up in my own heart
forever."

The silver-haired lady bent over him again, both caressingly and
proudly. "Michael, dear Michael," she said, with a soft thrill in her
voice, "I love you and honor you for it. I can FEEL what it costs you.
My darling, I know how hard you have to fight against it. I could see
you fighting against it to-day; and I was proud of the way you
struggled with it, single-handed, till you gained the victory."

Trevennack drew himself up still more haughtily than before. "And who
should struggle against the devil," he said, "single-handed as you
say, and gain the victory at last, if not I, myself, Lucy?"

He said it like some great one. His wife soothed his hand again and
repressed a sigh. She was a great-hearted lady, that brave wife and
mother, who bore her own trouble without a word spoken to anyone; but
she must sigh, at least, sometimes; it was such a relief to her pent-
up feelings. "Who indeed?" she said, acquiescent. "Who indeed, if not
you? And I love you best when you