nor does she know anything of our estrangement. She thinks me
obstinate, and blames me for leaving my cousin in her trouble. But you
know I could not help it. You know,--" her voice wavered off into a
tremble, and she did not conclude.

"I cannot tell you much," I hastened to reply; "but whatever knowledge
is at my command is certainly yours. Is there anything in particular you
wish to know?"

"Yes, how Mary is; whether she is well, and--and composed."

"Your cousin's health is good," I returned; "but I fear I cannot say she
is composed. She is greatly troubled about you."

"You see her often, then?"

"I am assisting Mr. Harwell in preparing your uncle's book for the
press, and necessarily am there much of the time."

"My uncle's book!" The words came in a tone of low horror.

"Yes, Miss Leavenworth. It has been thought best to bring it before the
world, and----"

"And Mary has set you at the task?"

"Yes."

It seemed as if she could not escape from the horror which this caused.
"How could she? Oh, how could she!"

"She considers herself as fulfilling her uncle's wishes. He was very
anxious, as you know, to have the book out by July."

"Do not speak of it!" she broke in, "I cannot bear it." Then, as if she
feared she had hurt my feelings by her abruptness, lowered her voice and
said: "I do not, however, know of any one I should be better pleased to
have charged with the task than yourself. With you it will be a work of
respect and reverence; but-a stranger--Oh, I could not have endured a
stranger touching it."

She was fast falling into her old horror; but rousing herself, murmured:
"I wanted to ask you something; ah, I know"--and she moved so as to
face me. "I wish to inquire if everything is as before in the house; the
servants the same and--and other things?"

"There is a Mrs. Darrell there; I do not know of any other change."

"Mary does not talk of going away?"

"I think not."

"But she has visitors? Some one besides Mrs. Darrell to help her bear
her loneliness?"

I knew what was coming, and strove to preserve my composure.

"Yes," I replied; "a few."

"Would you mind naming them?" How low her tones were, but how distinct!

"Certainly not. Mrs. Veeley, Mrs. Gilbert, Miss Martin, and a--a----"

"Go on," she whispered.

"A gentleman by the name of Clavering."

"You speak that name with evident embarrassment," she said, after a
moment of intense anxiety on my part. "May I inquire why?"