ady, she was very badly shaken by it. I would have been
glad if I might have read it myself first, to tell her of it gently."
Granny Marrable was entirely mistaken. "Break it gently," sounds so
well! What is it worth in practice?

"Could she understand the letter. _I_ couldn't, at first."

"She understood it better than I did. But it set her in a trembling, and
then she got lost-like, and we thought it best to go for Dr. Nash....
No--Ruth never knew anything of the letter, not a word. And her mother
said never a word to her. For he was her brother."

"I cannot understand some things in the letter now, but I see he is
thoroughly vile. One thing is good, though! What he wants is money."

"Will that...?"

"Keep him quiet and out of the way? Yes--of course it will. Let me take
the letter to show to my father. He will know what to do." She knew that
her father's first thought might be to use the clue to catch the man,
but she also knew he would not act upon it if his doing so was likely to
shorten the span of life still left to old Maisie. "What was he like?"
said she to Granny Marrable.

"Some might call him good-looking," was the cautious answer.

"You think _I_ shouldn't, evidently?" Evidently.

"It is not the face itself. It is in the shape of it. A twist. I took
him for mad, but he is not."

"How came you to know him for your sister's son?"

"Ah, my lady, how could I? For Maisie was still dead then, for me. I
could know he was Mrs. Prichard's son, for he said so."

"I see. It was before. But you talk about him to her now?"

"She cannot talk of much else, when Ruth is away. She will talk of him
to you, when she wakes.... Hush--I think Ruth is coming!" Gwen slipped
the letter in her pocket, to be out of the way.

No change in her mother--that was Ruth's report. She had not stirred in
her sleep. You could hardly hear her breathe. This was to show that you
_could_ hear her breathe, by listening. It covered any possible alarm
about the nature of so moveless a sleep, without granting discussion of
the point.

Gwen had told Tom Kettering to return shortly, but only for orders. Her
own mind was quite made up--not to leave the old lady until alarms had
died down. If the clouds cleared, she would think about it. Tom must
drive back at once to the Towers; and if anyone was still out of bed
whose concern it was to know, he might explain that she was not coming
back at present. Or stop a minute!--she would write a sh