this pain."

"Is he dead?" she asked, hoarsely.

"No, it is not so bad as that," he replied.

"Not death; and I know it is not disgrace. I can bear what you have to
tell me, Mr. Forster."

He took both papers from his pocket and laid them before her.

"Read this paragraph first," he said; "and then this."

She did as he wished. When she read the second, her proud face flushed,
and she drew her figure to its full height.

"What does this mean?" she said, contemptuously. "My son, Mr.
Carruthers, charged with stealing a watch? What does it mean, Mr.
Forster?"

"Lady Carruthers," said the lawyer, "it is true. I was in court when
your son, under the name of John Smith, pleaded guilty to the charge of
getting in the room belonging to Count Jules St. Croix, and I, myself,
heard him sentenced to six months' imprisonment."

She sat for some minutes, silent, mute and motionless. Then in a low
voice she asked: "Is he mad?"

"That was my first thought. It is some weeks since I had seen him, and
yesterday morning a note was brought to my office, from a gentleman in