since she came. She was broken
down and utterly woebegone.

But Monica could not be moved. She refused to go again under her
husband's roof until he had stated that his charge against her was
absolutely unfounded. This concession went beyond Widdowson's power; he
would forgive, but still declined to stultify himself by a statement
that could have no meaning. To what extent his wife had deceived him
might be uncertain, but the deception was a proved fact. Of course it
never occurred to him that Monica's demand had a significance which
emphasized the name of Barfoot. Had he said, 'I am convinced that your
relations with Barfoot were innocent,' he would have seemed to himself
to be acquitting her of all criminality; whereas Monica, from her point
of view, illogically supposed that he might credit her on this one
issue without overthrowing all the evidence that declared her
untrustworthy. In short, she expected him to read a riddle which there
was scarcely a possibility of his understanding.

Alice was in correspondence with the gloomy husband. She promised him
to use every effort to gain Monica's confidence. Perhaps as the eldest
sister she might succeed where Virginia had failed. Her faith in
Monica's protestations had been much shaken by the item of intelligence
which Virginia secretly communicated; she thought it too likely that
her unhappy sister saw no refuge from disgrace but in stubborn denial
of guilt. And in the undertaking that was before her she had no hope
save through the influence of religion--with her a much stronger force
than with either of the others.

Her arrival was expected on the last day of September. The evening
before, Monica went to bed soon after eight o'clock; for a day or two
she had suffered greatly, and at length had allowed a doctor to be
called. Whenever her sister retired very early, Virginia also went to
her own bedroom, saying that she preferred to sit there.

The room much surpassed in comfort that which she had occupied at Mrs.
Conisbee's; it was spacious, and provided with a couple of very soft
armchairs. Having locked her door, Virginia made certain preparations
which had nothing to do with natural repose. From the cupboard she
brought out a little spirit-kettle, and put water to boil. Then from a
more private repository were produced a bottle of gin and a
sugar-basin, which, together with a tumbler and spoon, found a place on
a little table drawn up within reach of the chair wh