the autumn this adaptation took a form which at first amused Mrs.
Colesworthy and myself, and afterward enlisted our hearty sympathy. He
became attached to Miss Budworth, the librarian of our town library. He
frequently went there for books, and as she was a very intelligent young
woman, and very willing to aid him in his selections, it was not strange
that he should become interested in her. Very often he would remain at
the library until it closed in the evening, when he would walk to her
home with her, discoursing upon literary and historical subjects.

My wife and I discussed this situation very thoroughly. Lilian Budworth
was a good girl, a sensible one, and a very good-looking one. Her family
was highly respectable and her years well proportioned to those of Mr.
Kilbright. There seemed to be, therefore, no reason why this intimacy
should not be encouraged. But yet we talked over the matter night after
night.

"You see," said my wife, "it all seems plain and simple enough; but, on
the other hand, it isn't. In the first place, she does not know that he
has had a wife, or what old Mr. Scott is to him. He has promised us that
he will never say anything to anybody about having lived in the last
century without first consulting us; and old Mr. Scott has said over and
over again that he doesn't intend to speak of it; and the spiritualists
have left town long ago; so, of course, she knows nothing about it. But,
if things go on, she must be told, and what will happen then, I would
like to know!"

"I am very sorry, indeed, that I cannot tell you," I answered.

"It would be a queer case, anyway," Mrs. Colesworthy continued. "Mr.
Kilbright has had a wife, but he never was a widower. Now, having been