face,
the clear, limpid eyes--how could it be? No sweeter mouth ever smiled,
and the light that lay on her face was the light of Heaven itself. How
could it be?

She seemed to wonder a little at my coldness, for she added:

"I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you, and Lance has thought of
nothing else during the last week."

I wonder that I didn't cry out, "You are the woman who drowned the
little child off the Chain Pier." It was only the sight of Lance's face
that deterred me. I had some vague, indistinct notion of what those
words would be to him.

"What is the matter, John?" asked Lance, impatiently. "The sight of my
wife's face seems to have struck you dumb."

"It must be with admiration, then," I said, making a desperate effort to
recover myself. "I could almost think I had seen Mrs. Fleming's face
before."

She looked at me frankly, and she laughed frankly.

"I have a good memory for faces," she said; "and I do not remember to
have seen yours."

There was no shadow of fear or of any effect at concealment; she did not
change color or shrink from me.

Lance laughed aloud.

"I wonder no longer at your being a bachelor," he said; "if the sight of
a beautiful face produces such a strange effect on you. You must deal
gently with him, Frances," he said to his wife; "his nerves are weak--he
cannot bear much at a time."

"I promise to be very gentle," she said; and the music of that low,
caressing voice thrilled my very heart. "I think," she continued, "that
Mr. Ford looks very tired, Lance, pale and worn. We must take great care
of him."

"That we will," was the hearty reply.

Great Heaven! was it a murderess standing there, with that sweet look of
compassion on her beautiful face? Could this woman, who looked pitifully
on me, a grown man, drown a little child in the deep sea? Were those
lips, littering kindly words of welcome, the same that had cried in mad
despair, "Oh, Heaven! if I dare--if I dare?" I could have killed myself
for the base suspicion. Yet it was most surely she!

I stooped to pick up the white hawthorn she had dropped. She took it
from me with the sweetest smile, and Lance stood by, looking on with an
air of proud proprietorship that would have been amusing if it had not
been so unutterably pitiful.

While my brain and mind were still chaos--a whirl of thought and
emotion--the second dinner-bell rang. I offered her my arm, but I could
not refrain from a shudder as her white