nder such circumstances as to make it appear that she
had been drowned in the lake. That she must leave her husband free to
marry Rachel Barlow had become a fixed idea in Hetty's mind. She was too
conscientious to kill herself for this purpose: moreover, she did not in
the least wish to die. She was very unhappy in this keen conviction that
she no longer sufficed for her husband's happiness; that she was, as she
would have phrased it, "in the way." But she was not heart-broken over
it, as a sentimental and feeble woman would have been. "There is plenty
to do in the world," she said to herself. "I've got a good many years'
work left in me yet: the thing is how to get at it." For many weeks she
had revolved the matter hopelessly, till one day, as she was rowing with
Raby on the lake, she heard a whistle of a steam-engine on the Springton
side of the lake. In that second, her whole plan flashed upon her brain.
She remembered that a railroad, leading to Canada, ran between Springton
and the lake. She remembered that there was a station not many miles
from Springton. She remembered that far up in Canada was a little French
village, St. Mary's, where she had once spent part of a summer with her
father. St. Mary's was known far and near for its medicinal springs, and
the squire had been sent there to try them. She remembered that there
was a Roman Catholic priest there of whom her father had been very fond.
She remembered that there were Sisters of Charity there, who used to go
about nursing the sick. She remembered the physician under whose care
her father was. She remembered all these things with a startling
vividness in the twinkling of an eye, before the echoes of the
steam-engine's whistle had died away on the air. She was almost
paralyzed by the suddenness and the clearness with which she was
impressed that she must go to St. Mary's. She dropped the oars, leaned
forward, and looked eagerly at the opening in the woods where the
Springton road touched the shore.

"What is it, aunty? What do you see!" asked Raby. The child's voice
recalled her to herself.

"Nothing! nothing! Raby. I was only listening to the car-whistle. Didn't
you hear it?" answered Hetty.

"No," said Raby. "Where are they going? Can't you take me some day."

The innocent words smote on Hetty's heart. How should she leave Raby?
What would her life be without him? his without her? But thinking about
herself had never been Hetty's habit. That a thing woul