"Yes, I know," Lucy answered, in an apologetic tone, "but Hannah cannot
stay late, on account of her father" then, turning to her
brother-in-law, who had just come in, she added: "You know, I suppose,
that your father has not been as well as usual for several weeks. Hannah
thinks he is failing very fast."

"Yes, she wrote me to that effect," Burton replied, "but she is easily
alarmed, and so I did not attach much importance to it. Do you think him
seriously ill?"

"I don't know except from Hannah herself, as he sees no one. I was there
yesterday, but he would not allow me to enter his room. I am told that
he has taken a fancy that no one shall go into his bedroom but Hannah
and the doctor. That looks as if his mind might be a little unsettled."

Instantly there came back to Burton's mind what his aunt had said to him
on her dying-bed: "There is a secret between them, but never try to
discover it, lest it should affect you, too. There may be disgrace in
it." Years had passed since Burton heard these words, and much good
fortune had come to him. He had married Geraldine Grey, and had become
president of a bank; he had increased in wealth and distinction, until
no one stood higher on the social platform of Boston than he did. He had
been to the Legislature twice and to Congress once, and was the Hon.
Burton Jerrold, respected by every one, and, what to his narrow mind was
better still, he was looked upon as an aristocrat of the bluest type.
None of his friends had ever seen the queer old hermit at the
farm-house, or Hannah either for that matter, for she had seldom been in
Boston since Grey was a baby, and on the rare occasions when she did go
she only passed the day, and had her lunch in the privacy of Mrs.