slowly, as if in pain, her lips tight drawn, her face
ghastly white, the thin cheeks sunken into deeper
hollows, the eyes burning. Only the mouth preserved
its lines, but firmer, more rigid, more severe,
as if tightened by the strength of some great resolve.
In her hand she held a letter.

Martha lay on the bed, her face to the wall, her
head still in her palms. She had ceased sobbing
and was quite still, as if exhausted.

Jane leaned over the banisters, called to one of the
servants, and dropping the letter to the floor below,
said:

"Take that to Captain Holt's. When he comes
bring him upstairs here into my sitting-room."

Before the servant could reply there came a knock
at the front door. Jane knew its sound--it was
Doctor John's. Leaning far over, grasping the top
rail of the banisters to steady herself, she said to
the servant in a low, restrained voice:

"If that is Dr. Cavendish, please say to him that
Martha is just home from Trenton, greatly fatigued,
and I beg him to excuse me. When the doctor has
driven away, you can take the letter."

She kept her grasp on the hand-rail until she