of time even the malicious and reckless Eva knew what
it was to be afraid. She was afraid, not of Herrick's wrath, but of the
consequences. If, as at times she almost feared, he were to leave her,
what would her position be? Already disgraced, discredited in the eyes
of the world, she would find it impossible to face that world all alone,
without the shelter of her husband's name; and although Toni's plight
was nothing to her, there were times when she almost wished she had left
the girl alone and had not encouraged her to take the fatal step of
leaving her home.

She picked up the flimsy sheet again and re-read the pitiful words. The
letter could be answered easily enough. If she replied truthfully, she
would relate a tragic history of a winter of lonely despair lived out in
the beautiful old house, which to its solitary owner was like a body
without a soul, a mere empty shell which had once held something
precious beyond all words.

She could narrate of blank and heavy days, when Owen Rose shut himself
up in his library and refused to see a single fellow-creature save the
servants who had known and loved his pretty young wife. Eva could have
told of the dismissal of the housekeeper, Mrs. Blades, whose long
service had seemed to her sufficient to warrant an impertinent stricture
on Mrs. Rose's shameless conduct. She had learned her mistake very
quickly; and had gone forth lamenting the short-sighted folly which had
ended her long and tyrannical reign at Greenriver. Further, Eva could
have related how, when the papers were full of complimentary reviews of
Owen Rose's novel, the author himself turned away from all praise,
fulsome and discriminating alike, and took up his pen only to write such
articles as his position on the staff of the _Bridge_ rendered
necessary.

But as yet Eva did not know what form her reply would take.

Warped, distorted, malignant as her judgment too often was, there was
something very vital in that despairing cry from Italy; and in spite of
herself Eva could not banish its echo from her ears.

She might answer, briefly, that Owen was still at Greenriver, and, so
far as she knew, in good health and spirits. As she framed the words she
had a mental vision of Owen as she had last seen him, thin, pale,
haggard, with the fire of a restless despair burning in his blue eyes.
Although he went out and about, and greeted his friends much as usual,
no one could doubt that the whole man was consumed as