pier, and all four precipitated themselves upon him at once,—­the three oldest about his neck, and James upon his pockets,—­he forgot her for the moment in the delight of seeing and embracing his children after three months of separation.  He emerged from that wild greeting, dishevelled and breathless, only to disappear once more within six long arms and a circle of sunburned faces.  Hamilton received from his children an almost frantic affection; indeed, few people merely liked him; it was either hate or a love which far transcended the bounds of such affection as the average mortal commands.  The passion he inspired in his children cost one his life, another her reason, and left its indelible mark on a third; but for what they gave, they received an overflowing measure in return; no man was ever more passionately attached to his brood, nor took a greater delight in its society.

Suddenly, through the web of Angelica’s flying locks, he saw that his wife had appeared on deck and was about to land.  He disentangled himself hastily and went forward to greet her.  In a flash he noted that she was prettier than ever, and that she was affected by something far more extraordinary than an increase of health.  She threw back her head, and her black eyes flashed with anger as he approached with the assurance of thirteen years of connubial ownership; but she greeted him politely and took his arm.  No explanation was possible there; and he escorted her and the children to the coach as quickly as possible.  Philip, Angelica, and Alexander were sensible at once of the chasm yawning between the seats; they redoubled their attentions to their father, and regarded their mother with reproving and defiant eyes.  Poor Betsey, conscious that she was entirely in the right, felt bitter and humiliated, and sought to find comfort in the indifference of James, who was engaged with a cornucopia and blind to the infelicity of his parents.

When they reached the house, Hamilton dismissed the children and opened the door of his library.

“Will you come in?” he said peremptorily.

Mrs. Hamilton entered, and sat down on a high-backed chair.  She was very small, her little pigeon toes were several inches above the floor; but no judge on his bench ever looked so stern and so inexorable.

“Now,” said Hamilton, who was cold from head to foot, for he had an awful misgiving, “let us have an explanation at once.  This is our first serious misunderstanding, and you well know that I shall be in misery until it is over—­”

“I have not the least intention of keeping you in suspense,” interrupted Betsey, sarcastically.  “I am too thankful that you did not happen to come to Saratoga when I was prostrated with misery.  I have gone through everything,—­every stage of wretchedness that the human heart is capable of,—­but now, thank Heaven, I am filled with only a just indignation.  Read that!”