sessed
at once of rather homely tastes and limited facilities, had
over-furnished the place with an infinitude of little
things--little rugs, little tables, little knit doilies, little
racks of photographs, little china ornaments, little spidery
what-nots, and shelves for books.

Virginia seated herself, and went directly to the topic.

"Mrs. Cockburn," she said, "you have always been very good to me,
always, ever since I came here as a little girl. I have not always
appreciated it, I am afraid, but I am in great trouble, and I want
your help."

"What is it, dearie," asked the older woman, softly. "Of course I
will do anything I can."

"I want you to tell me what all this mystery is--about the man who
to-day arrived from Kettle Portage, I mean. I have asked
everybody: I have tried by all means in my power to get somebody
somewhere to tell me. It is maddening--and I have a special reason
for wanting to know."

The older woman was already gazing at her through troubled eyes.

"It is a shame and a mistake to keep you so in ignorance!" she
broke out, "and I have said so always. There are many things you
have the right to know, although some of them would make you very
unhappy--as they do all of us poor women who have to live in this
land of dread. But in this I cannot, dearie."

Virginia felt again the impalpable shadow of truth escaping her.
Baffled, confused, she began to lose her self-control. A dozen
times to-day she had reached after this thing, and always her
fingers had closed on empty air. She felt that she could not stand
the suspense of bewilderment a single instant longer. The tears
overflowed and rolled down her cheeks unheeded.

"Oh, Mrs. Cockburn!" she cried. "Please! You do not know how
dreadful this thing has come to be to me just because it is made so
mysterious. Why has it been kept from me alone? It must have
something to do with me, and I can't stand this mystery, this
double-dealing, another minute. If you won't tell me, nobody will,
and I shall go on imagining--Oh, please have pity on me! I feel
the shadow of a tragedy. It comes out in everything, in everybody
to whom I turn. I see it in Wishkobun's avoidance of me, in my
father's silence, in Mr. Crane's confusion, in your
reluctance--yes, in the very reckless insolence of Mr. Trent
himself!"--her voice broke slightly. "If you will not tell me, I
shall go direct to my father," she ended, with more firmness.

Mrs. Cockbur