hat had ever happened to
her; she had simply been swept away by some unfathomable madness. And at
present Nature's first law was working in her with obliterating force.
_Would the man tell?_ Here in the sane and ordered surroundings, with
mamma sleeping and satisfied one floor below, and a long, long letter to
be written to her knight among men the first thing to-morrow, there was
nothing in the world that mattered but that. If Vivian would not tell,
then, indeed, all was well with her. If he did tell ...

He had said that he would not tell without first seeing her. But of
course there was nothing under heaven to prevent his seeing her, or
sending word to her, at any time, by day or by night. And then what?

Carlisle lay upon her back, rather small and frightened in the tall bed,
struggling to pluck away the veil from the face of the menacing future.
What would "telling" mean, exactly?...

There was a hopeful view. The whole thing was so confused, just as he
himself had admitted, more than once. It might all be put on the ground
of a mistake, a little misunderstanding, recently discovered. You could
tell, and not go into all the mixed-up details. Jack Dalhousie would
then gratefully return from Texas (where he was really getting on much
better than he had ever done at home--Dr. Vivian had practically said
so); his father would quietly take him back; and it would be generally
understood that Jack was not a coward now, and was greatly improved
morally by the disciplinary exile, and everything would be all right.
But of course the difficulty here was that somebody (like Colonel
Dalhousie, for instance) might think to ask why the discovery of the
little misunderstanding came now, instead of six months ago. You could
hardly reply to such an one that you had just discovered the mistake as
the result of a flare-up, caused by a slum doctor's giving twenty-five
thousand dollars to buy an old hotel. Who would understand that, when
you didn't yourself?...

Carlisle, indeed, being a practical girl, did not linger long on the
optimistic prospect. For to-night at least, "telling" seemed a matter
too dreadful to contemplate. Colonel Dalhousie was an irascible and
solitary widower with one son whom he had once been proud of; and this
son, having been strangely compelled to take a lady's word as to his own
conduct, had been disgraced by that word, cast out with his father's
curse upon his forehead. Was it likely that these two would