ect of tears, for the
heat of a consuming suspense had dried the fountains of woe.

'I don't like to occupy your mind with such things, my dear,' began her
mother, 'but perhaps as a warning I ought to show you the news Alfred
spoke of. It pleases Providence that there should be evil in the world,
and for our own safety we must sometimes look it in the face, especially
we poor women, Adela. Will you read that?'

Adela read. She could not criticise the style, but it affected her as
something unclean; Hubert's very name suffered degradation when used in
such a way. Prepared for worse things than that which she saw, no
shock of feelings was manifest in her. She returned the paper without
speaking.

'I wanted you to see that my behaviour to Mr. Eldon was not
unjustified,' said her mother. 'You don't blame me any longer, dear?'

'I have never blamed you, mother.'

'It is a sad, sad end to what might have been a life of usefulness and
honour. I have thought so often of the parable of the talents; only I
fear this case is worse. His poor mother! I wonder if I could write to
her! Yet I hardly know how to.'

'Is this a--a wicked woman, mother?' Adela asked falteringly.

Mrs. Waltham shook her head and sighed.

'My love, don't you see that she is an actress?'

'But if all actresses are wicked, how is it that really good people go
to the theatre?'

'I am afraid they oughtn't to. The best of us are tempted into
thoughtless pleasure. But now I don't want you to brood over things
which it is a sad necessity to have to glance at. Read your chapter,
darling, and get to bed.'

To bed--but not to sleep. The child's imagination was aflame. This
scarlet woman, this meteor from hell flashing before the delighted eyes
of men, she, then, had bound Hubert for ever in her toils; no release
for him now, no ransom to eternity. No instant's doubt of the news
came to Adela; in her eyes _imprimatur_ was the guarantee of truth. She
strove to picture the face which had drawn Hubert to his doom. It must
be lovely beyond compare. For the first time in her life she knew the
agonies of jealousy.

She could not shed tears, but in her anguish she fell upon prayer, spoke
the words above her breath that they might silence that terrible voice
within. Poor lost lamb, crying in the darkness, sending forth such
piteous utterance as might create a spirit of love to hear and rescue.

Rescue--none. When the fire wasted itself, she tried to find solace