indentations of the land. There were hundreds of
places into any one of which the body might have floated, and where
it must remain until the warm airs of spring set the water free
again. The search was fruitless.

Mrs. Martindale, meantime, had lapsed into a state of dull
indifference to everything but her great sorrow. That absorbed her
whole mental life. It was the house in which her soul dwelt, the
chamber of affliction wherein she lived, and moved, and had her
being--so darkly draped that no light came in through the windows.
Very still and passionless she sat here, refusing to be comforted.

Forced by duty, yet dreading always to look into her face, that
seemed full of accusations, I went often to see my friend. It was
very plain that, in her mind, I was an accessory to her son's death.
Not after the first few days did I venture to offer a word of
comfort; for such words from my lips seemed as mockery. They
faltered on my tongue.

One day I called and the servant took up my name. On returning to
the parlor, she said that Mrs. Martindale did not feel very well,
and wished to be excused. The servant's manner confirmed my instant
suspicion. I had looked for this; yet was not the pang it gave me
less acute for the anticipation? Was I not the instrumental cause of
a great calamity that had wrecked her dearest hope in life? And how
could she bear to see my face?

I went home very heavy-hearted. My husband tried to comfort me with
words that had no balm for either his troubled heart or mine. The
great fact of our having put the cup of confusion to that young
man's lips, and sent him forth at midnight in no condition to find
his way home, stood out too sharply defined for any self-delusion.

I did not venture to the house of my friend again. She had dropped a
curtain between us, and I said, "It shall be a wall of separation."

Not until spring opened was the body of Albert Martindale recovered.
It was found floating in the dock, at the end of the street down
which young Gordon saw him go with unsteady steps in the darkness
and storm on that night of sorrow. His watch was in his pocket, the
hands pointing to half-past two, the time, in all probability, when
he fell into the water. The diamond pin was in his scarf, and his
pocket-book in his pocket, unrifled. He had not been robbed and
murdered. So much was certain. To all it was plain that the
bewildered young man, left to himself, had plunged on blindly
through th