ois exclaimed, wide awake, and springing from her bed to rush
to her cousin. "What is it?" she gasped, as she caught sight of the
group.

"Nothing, I tell you," said the rector. "Go to bed at once; you'll take
cold."

But Helen, seeing the distressed face, put her hands on Lois's shoulders,
and pushed her gently back into her room. "I had to come back, Lois," she
said. "I will tell you why, to-morrow. I am too tired, now. Don't speak
to me, please, dear."

The rector had hurried down the entry to find Jean, who indeed needed no
rousing, for Sally had told her who had come. "Let me know when Miss
Helen is comfortable," he said.

And when the old woman, awed by Helen's still, white face, told him his
niece was in bed, he came up again, holding the decanter by the throat,
and begging her to take another glass of wine. But she only turned her
head away and asked to be alone. She would not say anything more, and did
not seem to hear his assurances that it would be "all right in the
morning," and that "she must not worry."

It was the kindest thing to her, but it was very hard for the rector to
go down to his library still in ignorance. The spell of peace had been
rudely broken, and his fire was out. He lifted Helen's bonnet, still
heavy with rain, and laid it on the cloak she had thrown across a chair,
and then stood and looked at them as though they could explain the
mystery of her return. The tall clock on the stairs struck eleven, and
outside the storm beat and complained.

Dr. Howe was up early the next morning. He went through the silent house
before Sally had crept yawning from her room, and, throwing open the
doors at each end of the hall, let a burst of sunshine and fresh wind
into the darkness and stillness. Then he went out, and began to walk up
and down the porch as a sort of outlet to his impatience. Over and over
he said, "What can it be?" Indeed, Dr. Howe had asked himself that
question even in his dreams. "I hope there's no woman at the bottom
of it," he thought. "But no; Ward's a fool, but he is a good man."

He stopped once, to lift a trailing vine and twist it about a support.
The rain had done great damage in the night: the locust blossoms had been
torn from the trees, and the lawn was white with them; the soft, wet
petals of the climbing roses were scattered upon the path by the side of
the house; and a long branch of honeysuckle, wrenched from its trellis,
was prone upon the porch. These small in