tion apart:--"It is _you_ I am speaking of--_you_ are Mrs. Marrable's
sister, and each has falsely thought the other dead for a lifetime"? All
her elaborate preparation had ended in an _impasse_, blocked by a dead
wall whose removal was only possible to the bluntest declaration of the
truth, almost more cruel now than it would have been before this
factitious abatement of the agitation in which Gwen had found her.

And then the long tension that had kept Gwen on the rack, more or less,
since the revelation of the letter, keenly in this last hour or so,
began to tell upon her, and her soul came through into her words. "Oh
no--oh no! Mrs. Marrable's sister did not die without knowing--at least,
I mean ... I mean she has not died.... She may ..." She was stopped by
the danger of inexplicable tears, in time as she thought.

But old Mrs. Prichard, always on the alert for her Guardian Angel,
caught the slight modulation of her voice, and was alive with ready
sympathy. "Why--oh why--why this?..." she began, wanting to say:--"Why
such concern on Mrs. Marrable's account?" and finding herself at fault
for words, came to a dead stop.

"You mean, why should _I_ fret because of Mrs. Marrable's sister? Is it
not that?"

"Ye-es. I think ... I think that is what I meant to say."

Gwen nerved herself for a great effort. She took both the old hands in
hers, and all her beauty was in the eyes that looked up at the old face,
as she said:--"I will tell you. It is because--_I_--have to tell _her_
to-day ... that she is ... that she is ... Mrs. Marrable's sister!" The
last words might have been a cry for pity.

Could old Maisie fail to catch a gleam of the truth? She did. She only
saw that her sweet Guardian Angel was in trouble, and thought to
herself:--"Can I not help her?" She immediately said, quite quietly and
clearly:--"My dear--my dear! But it will give you such pain. Why not let
_me_ tell her? I am old, and my time is at hand. It would be nothing to
me. For see what trouble I have had myself. And I could say to her ..."

"What could you say to her?" Desperation was in Gwen's voice. How could
this awful barrier be passed? Could it be past at all--ever?

"I could tell her of all the trouble of my own life, long ago. I do
think, if I told her and said, 'See--it might have been me,' that might
make it easy." The suggestion was based on a perfectly reasonable idea.
Gwen felt that her own task would have been more achievable had her