s somewhat dark, and it was not until Audrey was quite close
to Mrs. Blake that she noticed the change in her that had so shocked
Kester.

The blackness of the plain stuff gown, unrelieved by any whiteness, may
have made the contrast of her pale face more striking; but Audrey
noticed that her dark hair was now streaked with gray. She had drawn it
back from her face and coiled it tightly behind, as though her own
appearance had ceased to interest her, and the sunken eyes and a certain
sharp look about the cheekbones made her seem at least ten years older.

With a pity amounting to tenderness, Audrey would have put her arms
round her; but Mrs. Blake drew back, and only suffered her to kiss her
cheek.

'Dear Mrs. Blake----'

But she interrupted her.

'Do not call me that again,' she said hastily. 'There has been enough of
deception and lies; my name is Olive O'Brien. As long as I remain in the
world I wish to be called by that name.'

Then Audrey gazed at her in speechless consternation. What could this
strange speech portend?

'Will you sit down?' she continued, at the same time seating herself in
a high-backed chair that stood beside her bed.

A crucifix lay on a little table beside her, with a framed photograph of
Cyril that she always carried about with her. From time to time she
looked at them as she spoke.

'Biddy told me that you were going back to Rutherford, and I could not
let you go without bidding you good-bye.'

'It would have made me very unhappy if you had not allowed me to see
you.'

'I cannot believe that; but of course you mean it for the truth: that is
why my boy loved you, because you are so absolutely true.' Her voice
sank into a whisper, and a gloomy light came into her eyes. 'That is why
his mother disappointed him, why he lost all trust in her, because
falsehood was easier to her than truth.'

'But not now, dear Mrs. Blake; nay, I must call you by the old name. And
what does it matter between us two if you have sinned? If your
wrong-doing seems a heavy burden, you can at least repent.'

'I have repented,' she said, in a voice so strange and thrilling that
Audrey felt inwardly troubled. 'In the hours of darkness by my boy's
coffin I have humbled myself before my Maker, I have craved to expiate
my sin. Audrey, listen to me,' she continued; 'I have sent for you
because you loved my Cyril, because for a few months you made him happy.
He was my idol, and that is why he has been taken fro