"Not from here," Mrs. Thorne replied; "but we could send you over to Colfax
to catch the night train from there. I hoped we could have you another
day."

"That would be impossible," said Miss Benedet; "but I shall be giving you a
great deal of trouble."

"Oh, no; it is only ten miles. Mr. Thorne will take you; we will both take
you. It is a beautiful drive by moonlight through the woods. Was I wrong
not to call you?"

"If you were, you will be punished by having me on your hands this long,
hot afternoon. I ought to have gone last night. When one has parted with
the very last bit of one's self, one should make haste to remove the
shell."

"Then you would have left me with something remaining on my mind, something
I must get rid of at once. Come, let us go where we cannot see each other's
faces. I am deeply in the wrong concerning you."

Mrs. Thorne went on incriminating herself so darkly in her preface that
when she came to the actual offense her confessor smiled. "I am so
relieved!" she exclaimed. "This is much more like real life. I felt you
must be keeping something back, or, if not, I could never live up to such a
pitch of generosity. I am glad you did not reach it all at once."

"But what becomes of the truth--the story as it should have been told to
Willy? Oh, I have sinned, for want of patience, of faith--not against you,
dear, but my son!"