"We
kept her, I kept her, here for her sake. In this country it would
be a sort of disgrace for any--any--feeble--person, you know, to go
to an institution. Those are our graves over yonder in the yard.
You see them? Well, here was our asylum. We kept our secrets.
"She was this way for more than ten years. She was hurt in an
accident--her spine. She withered away. Her mind was gone--she
was like a child. She had toys, like a child. She wept, she cried
out like a child. Very often I was obliged to play--Ah! my God!
My God!"
"This was one of your family. It was that which we heard--which we
_felt_--about the place--?" Her voice was very clear, though low.
"My wife! Now you know." He dropped back, his face once more
between his hands, and again she fell into silence.
"How long--was this?" at length she asked quietly.
He turned a scorched and half-blinded face toward her. "Ever since
I was a boy, you might say," said he. "Even before my father and
mother died.
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