made him stop; some secret call from deeply hidden, possibly
unrecognised, affections gave him the will to say:

"A plea uttered through a veil is like an unsigned message. It
partakes too much of the indefinite. Will you lift your veil,
madam?"

"In a minute," she assured him. "The voice can convey truth as
certainly as the features. I will not deny you a glimpse of the
latter after you have heard my story. Will you hear it, judge?
Issues of no common importance hang upon your decision. I entreat-
-but no, you are a just man; I will rely upon your sense of right.
If your son's happiness fails to appeal to you, let that of a
young and innocent girl lovely as few are lovely either in body or
mind."

"Yourself, madam?"

"No, my daughter! Oliver Ostrander has done us that honour, sir.
He had every wish and had made every preparation to marry my
child, when--Shall I go on?"

"You may."

It was shortly said, but a burden seemed to fall from her
shoulders at its utterance. Her whole graceful form relaxed
swiftly into its natural curves, and an atmosphere of charm from
this moment enveloped her, which justified the description of Mrs.
Yardley, even without a sight of the features she still kept
hidden.