sat a child of four years old. Hilliard kissed her, and stroked her
curly hair, and talked with playful affection. This little girl was
his niece, the child of his elder brother, who had died three years
ago. The poorly furnished room and her own attire proved that Mrs.
Hilliard had but narrow resources in her widowhood. Nor did she
appear a woman of much courage; tears had thinned her cheeks, and
her delicate hands had suffered noticeably from unwonted household
work.

Hilliard remarked something unusual in her behaviour this evening.
She was restless, and kept regarding him askance, as if in
apprehension. A letter from her, in which she merely said she wished
to speak to him, had summoned him hither from Dudley. As a rule,
they saw each other but once a month.

"No bad news, I hope!" he remarked aside to her, as he took his
place at the table.

"Oh, no. I'll tell you afterwards."

Very soon after the meal Mrs. Hilliard took the child away and put
her to bed. During her absence the visitor sat brooding, a peculiar
half-smile on his face. She came back, drew a chair up to the fire,
but did not sit down.

"Well, what is it?" asked her brother-in-law, much as he might have
spoken to the little girl.

"I have something very serious to talk about, Maurice."