of gray hair, like a cameo against the crimson background of the
chair. The man beside her looked at her with that impatience of his
masculine estate and his superior youth, and yet with the adoration
which nothing could conquer. He had passed two-thirds of his life,
metaphorically, at this woman's feet, and had formed a habit of
admiration and lovership which no facts nor developments could ever
alter. He was frowning, he replied with a certain sharpness, and yet
he leaned towards her as he spoke, and his eyes followed her long,
graceful lines and noted the clear delicacy of her features against
the crimson background. "How the child looked--how the child looked;
Cynthia, you do not realize what you did. You have not the faintest
realization of what it means for a woman to keep a lost child hidden
away as you did, when its parents and half the city were hunting for
it. I tell you I did not know what the consequences might be to you
if it were found out. There is wild blood in a city like this, and
even the staid old New England stream is capable of erratic
currents. I tell you I have had a day of dreadful anxiety, and it
was worse because I had to be guarded. I dared scarcely speak to any
one about the matter. I have listened on street corners; I have made
errands to newspaper offices. I meant to get you away if-- Well,
never mind--I tell you, you do not realize what you did, Cynthia."

Cynthia glanced at him without moving her head, then she looked
away, her face quivering slightly, more as if from a reflection of
his agitation than from her own. "You say you saw her," she said.

"This afternoon," the man went on, "I got fairly desperate. I
resolved to go to the fountain-head for information, and take my
chances. So down I went to Maple Street, where the Brewsters live,
and I rang the front-door bell, and the child's aunt, a handsome,