ndow of her sitting-room at White Gables
gazing out upon a wavering landscape of fine rain and mist. The weather
had broken as it seldom does in that part in June. White wreathings
drifted up the fields from the sullen sea; the sky was an unbroken gray
deadness shedding pin-point moisture that was now and then blown against
the panes with a crepitation of despair. The lady looked out on the dim
and chilling prospect with a woeful face. It was a bad day for a woman
bereaved, alone and without a purpose in life.

There was a knock, and she called, "Come in!" drawing herself up with an
unconscious gesture that always came when she realized that the
weariness of the world had been gaining upon her spirit. Mr. Trent had
called, the maid said; he apologized for coming at such an early hour,
but hoped that Mrs. Manderson would see him on a matter of urgent
importance. Mrs. Manderson would see Mr. Trent. She walked to a mirror,
looked into the olive face she saw reflected there, shook her head at
herself with the flicker of a grimace, and turned to the door as Trent
was shown in.

His appearance, she noted, was changed. He had the jaded look of the
sleepless, and a new and reserved expression, in which her quick
sensibilities felt something not propitious, took the place of his
half-smile of fixed good-humor.

"May I come to the point at once?" he said when she had given him her
hand. "There is a train I ought to catch at Bishopsbridge at twelve
o'clock, but I cannot go until I have settled this thing, which concerns
you only, Mrs. Manderson. I have been working half the night, and
thinking the rest; and I know now what I ought to do."

"You look wretchedly tired," she said kindly. "Won't you sit down?--this
is a very restful chair. Of course it is about this terrible business
and your work as correspondent. Please ask me anything you think I can
properly tell you, Mr. Trent. I know that you won't make it worse for me
than you can help in doing your duty here. If you say you must see me
about something, I know it must be because, as you say, you ought to do
it."

"Mrs. Manderson," said Trent, slowly measuring his words, "I won't make
it worse for you than I can help. But I am bound to make it bad for
you--only between ourselves, I hope. As to whether you can properly tell
me what I shall ask you, you will decide that; but I tell you this on my
word of honor: I shall ask you only as much as will decide me whether to
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