ladness invading the very recesses of her maternal instinct, and
replacing what had been the heartfelt sorrow of six years. "It is a
mercy I have no child!" she cried, and the cry seemed to herself almost
blasphemous.

When she came out of the church it was raining, and the wind blowing. It
was only a short walk to her own house, and she and her mother had made
a rule not to take out servants and the carriage for their devotions.
She would have walked on in total silence, but her mother could not bear
the suspense.

"Rose, what is it?" she cried, in a tone of authority and intense
anxiety. After all it might be easier to answer now as they battled with
the rain.

"I don't know how to tell you, mother. Mr. Murray has been with me and
shown me the will. There was some one all the time who had some claim on
him. She may have been his real wife--I know nothing except that since
we have had John Steele's fortune David has always paid her an income
and now has left her a very great deal and me very little. That would
not matter--God knows it is not the poverty that hurts--but the thing
itself, the horror, the shame, the publicity. I mind it all, everything,
more than I ought. I----" She stopped, not a word more would come.

Lady Charlton could only make broken sounds of incredulous horror. When
they crossed the brilliantly lighted hall the mother suddenly seemed
much older, and Rose, for the first time, bore all the traces of a
great, an overpowering sorrow.

"It wasn't natural to be so calm," thought the maid, who had been with
her since her girlhood, as she helped her to take off her cloak. "She
didn't understand at first. It's coming over her now, poor dear, and
indeed he was a real gentleman, and such a husband! Never a harsh
word--not one--that I ever heard, at least."

It was some time before Lady Charlton could be brought to believe it
all, and then at first she was overwhelmed with self-blame. Her mind
fastened chiefly on the fact that she had allowed the marriage without
settlements. Then the next thought was the horror of the publicity, the
way in which this dreadful woman must be heard of and talked about. Lady
Charlton's broken sentences had almost the feebleness of extreme old age
that cannot accept as true what it cannot understand. "It seems
impossible, quite impossible," she said. She was very tired, and Rose
wished it had been practicable to keep this knowledge from her till
later. She knew that her mo