sat by the fire. The red firelight shone in her face. She looked
tired and troubled.

"Poor girl!" he murmured. "Poor girl! Oh, God, have mercy on me! She
loves him--she loves him!"

She looked up and caught his eyes. "Did you want anything?" she asked.

He gave the letter to her. "Burn it, please. I wish I had not read
it."

She took it to the fire. The light of the blazing paper flashed on the
walls, and then went out.

He remained so silent that she thought he was sleeping, but when she
rose to leave the room she caught his glance, so full of dumb misery
that her heart sank. She went to her mother in the kitchen. Mrs.
Floyd was polishing a pile of knives and forks, and did not look up
until Harriet spoke.

"Mother," she said, "I am afraid something has gone wrong with Mr.
Westerfelt."

"What do you mean?" asked the old lady in alarm.

"I don't know, but he got a letter this morning, and after he read it
he seemed changed and out of heart. He gave it to me to burn, and I
never saw such a desperate look on a human face. I know it was the
letter, because before he read it he was so--so different."