over-furnished the place with an infinitude of little
things--little rugs, little tables, little knit doilies, little
racks of photographs, little china ornaments, little spidery
what-nots, and shelves for books.

Virginia seated herself, and went directly to the topic.

"Mrs. Cockburn," she said, "you have always been very good to me,
always, ever since I came here as a little girl. I have not always
appreciated it, I am afraid, but I am in great trouble, and I want
your help."

"What is it, dearie," asked the older woman, softly. "Of course I
will do anything I can."

"I want you to tell me what all this mystery is--about the man who
to-day arrived from Kettle Portage, I mean. I have asked
everybody: I have tried by all means in my power to get somebody
somewhere to tell me. It is maddening--and I have a special reason
for wanting to know."

The older woman was already gazing at her through troubled eyes.

"It is a shame and a mistake to keep you so in ignorance!" she
broke out, "and I have said so always. There are many things you
have the right to know, although some of them would make you very
unhappy--as they do all of us poor women who have to live in this
land of dread. But in this I cannot, dearie."

Virginia felt again the impalpable shadow of truth escaping her.