"Poor old thing," thought Gabriella, imagining in her ignorance that she
could understand the tragedy of Miss Amelia's life; "poor old thing, she
must have had a terrible time."

As she approached her mother's door, Charley came out, glanced at her
sheepishly, and hurried to where his hat hung on the walnut hatrack in
the front hall. Then, as if overcoming his first impulse to avoid her,
he beckoned to her furtively, and said in a sepulchral whisper:
"Gabriella, be very careful what you say to her."

The audacity of it! This from Charley, the abandoned, the depraved, the
unutterably abhorrent in her sight. Without replying, she turned
indignantly away and opened her mother's door.

Lying in the middle of the bed now, and slightly propped with pillows,
Jane was sipping a second dose of medicine from a glass Mrs. Carr held
to her lips.

"I know you don't understand my forgiving him, Gabriella," she said very
gently, "but some day, after you are married, you will realize that I do
it from a sacred duty--from a sacred duty," she repeated firmly, while
the shining light of martyrdom illumined her features.

"Well, it's none of my business," answered Gabriella crossly, "but the
sooner you do it, I suppose the sooner you will have to do it again." If
only for once Jane would be direct, if only she would be natural, if
only she would speak the truth and not fiction.

"Oh, no, dear, you don't understand him any better than you do me," said