her lap upon her parasol, her features held in control, save that in her
eyes was a bright, hot flame which so many have desired to see in the eyes
of those they love and have not seen. The hunger of these is like the
thirst of the people who waited for Moses to strike the rock.

He sat down without speaking. "He is gone," he said at last.

"Yes. Look at me and tell me if, from my face, you would think I had been
seeing dreadful things." She smiled sadly at him.

"No, I could not think it. I see nothing more than a kind of sadness. The
rest is all beauty."

"Oh, hush!" she replied solemnly. "Do not say those things now."

"I will not if you do not wish to hear them. What dreadful things have
you seen?"

"You know so much you should know everything," she said, "at least all of
what may happen."

Then she told him who Mildred Margrave was; how years before, when the
girl's mother was very ill and it was thought she would die, the Margraves
had taken the child and promised that she should be as their own and a
companion to their own child; that their own child had died, and Mildred
still remained with them. All this she knew from one who was aware of the
circumstances. Then she went on to tell him who Mildred's mother and
father were, what were Telford's relations to John Gladney and of his
search for Gladney's wife.