conscious that he showed his companion a white face when he turned round on her with the exclamation: "Acton Hague!"
She gave him back his astonishment. "Did you know him?"
"He was the friend of all my youth—my early manhood. And you knew him?"
She colored at this, and for a moment her answer failed; her eyes took in every thing in the place, and a strange irony reached her lips as she echoed: "Knew him?"
Then Stransom understood, while the room heaved like the cabin of a ship, that its whole contents cried out with him, that it was a museum in his honor, that all her later years had been addressed to him, and that the shrine he himself had reared had been passionately converted to this use. It was all for Acton Hague that she had kneeled every day at his altar. What need had there been for a consecrated candle when he was present in the whole array? The revelation seemed to smite our friend in the face, and he dropped into a seat and sat silent. He had quickly become aware that she was shocked at the vision of his own shock, but as she sank on the sofa beside him and laid her hand on his arm he perceived almost as soon that she was unable to resent it as much as she would have liked.
