xt conscious record of her memory was that of Neal Ward
bursting into the room, crying, "Aunt Molly--Aunt Molly--do you know
Mr. Hendricks has committed suicide? They've found him dead with a
pistol by his side. I want some whiskey for Miss Hendricks. And they
need you right away."

But Molly Brownwell, with what composure she could, said, "Adrian is
sick, Neal--I can't--I can't leave him now." And she called after
Neal as he ran toward the door, "Tell them, Neal, tell them--why I
can't come." There was a hum of voices in the air, and the sound of a
gathering crowd. Soon the shuffle and clatter of a thousand feet made
it evident that the meeting at Barclay Hall had heard the news and was
hurrying up the hill. The crowd buzzed for an hour, and Molly and
Adrian Brownwell waited speechless together--he face downward on the
sofa, she huddled in a chair by the window. And then the crowd broke,
slowly, first into small groups that moved away together and then
turned in a steady stream and tramped, tramped, tramped down the hill.

When the silence had been unbroken a long time, save by the rumble of
a buggy on the asphalt or by the footsteps of some stray passerby, the
man on the sofa lifted his head, looked at his wife and spoke, "Well,
Molly?"

"Well, Adrian," she answered, "this is the end, I suppose?"

He did not reply for a time, and when he did speak, it was in a dead,
passionless voice: "Yes--I suppose so. I can't stay here now."

"No--no," she returned. "No, you should not stay here."

He sat up and stared vacantly at her for a while and then said,
"Though I don't see why I didn't leave years and years ago; I knew all
this then, as well as I do now." The wife looked away from him as she
replied: "Yes, I should have known you would know. I knew your secret
and you--"

"My secret," said Adrian, "my secret?"

"Yes--that you came North with your inherited money because when you
were in the Confederate army you were a coward in some action and
could not live among your own people."

"Who told you," he asked, "who told you?"

"The one who told you I have always loved Bob; life has told me that,
Adrian. Just as life has told you my story." They sat without speaking
for a time, and then the woman sighed and rose. "Two people who have
lived together twenty-five years can have no secrets from each other.
In a thousand, ways the truth comes out."

"I should have gone away a long time ago," he repeated, "a long time