to accompany them. It was such an important meeting and there were
so many things to talk about, she explained. She would call the very
next day. Serena thanked her; Gertrude said nothing.

Serena seemed better on the way home. When they reached the house she
announced bravely that she was all right again; all she needed was a
night's rest, that was all. Gertrude insisted on accompanying her to
her room. They found Daniel asleep in the chair, and to him his daughter
explained the situation. The captain was too greatly disturbed to think
of his "news," the news of Mr. Ginn's arrival and Azuba's subjection.

"You get right into bed, Serena," he ordered. "Gertie, you call the
doctor."

But his wife would not hear of the doctor. "Nonsense!" she declared. "I
don't need any doctor. I want to go to bed. I'm tired--tired. I won't
see the doctor or anybody else. Go, Gertie, please go. Your father will
be with me. Please go! I am all right now."

Gertrude went, but she whispered to the captain that she would wait in
the library and, if they needed her, he was to be sure and call.

In the library she took a book--one of Aunt Lavinia's legacies--from the
shelf and tried to read, but that was impossible. She could not read,
she could only think, and thinking was most unpleasant. Her conscience
was troubling her. Had she been wrong? Had she gone too far? She had
meant well, her plan had seemed the only solution of the family problem,
but perhaps she had made a mistake. She loved her mother devotedly. Oh,
if anything serious should happen--if, because of her, her mother should
be ill--if--if she should. She could not think of it. She would never
forgive herself, never. It had been all wrong from the beginning, and
she had been wicked and foolish. It had cost her so much already; her
own life's happiness. And yet--and yet, she had meant to do right. But
now, after that misunderstanding and consequent sacrifice, if her mother
should--

She broke down and was very, very miserable.

Someone was at the front door, fumbling with a latchkey. Gertrude
hurriedly sprang from her chair, wiped her eyes with her handkerchief
and was on her way to the hall when the door opened. The hall was dark;
she had turned off the light when she came downstairs; and for a moment
she could not see who it was that had entered. She, however, was in the
full glow from the electrolier in the library and Mr. Hungerford saw
her.

"Ah, Gertrude," he said che