"To be dragged down, to be accused, to be cast so low," he continued, in
his sad, heavy voice, "so low that the lowest have cause to deride and
to scorn." He stopped before her. "Is it true that I can save you from
that?"

"It is true."

She did not tell him that she had lied to Draycott; it did not appear
necessary; neither did she tell him that Draycott's memory was long and
sure and unerring.

"Then, if there is one man in all God's universe,"--Heath cast out his
arms as he spoke--"one man above all others whom you could appeal to,
could trust most entirely, that man is myself. Give me your burden, your
distress of mind, and I will take them; I cannot say more--"

"Of course, it may never be necessary for you to--to avoid telling Mr.
Hartley," broke in Mrs. Wilder quickly. Heath was getting on her nerves,
and she rose to her feet. "I cannot thank you sufficiently, and I fear
that I have upset you, made you feel my own cares too profoundly,"--her
voice grew almost tender. "I have never known such ready sympathy, but
you feel too intensely, Mr. Heath. You make my little trouble your own,
and you have made me very grateful. Are you in any trouble yourself?"

Heath stopped for a moment, an outline against the light of the window.
She thought he was going to speak, and she waited with an odd feeling of
excitement to hear what was coming, when he suddenly retired back into
his usual manner.