very favorable impression on
you," she said.

"I own it. I feel deeply interested in her."

"If she had not been an incurable invalid, George, I too might have
become interested in Miss Dunross--perhaps in the character of my
daughter-in-law?"

"It is useless, mother, to speculate on what _might_ have happened. The
sad reality is enough."

My mother paused a little before she put her next question to me.

"Did Miss Dunross always keep her veil drawn in your presence, when
there happened to be light in the room?"

"Always."

"She never even let you catch a momentary glance at her face?"

"Never."

"And the only reason she gave you was that the light caused her a
painful sensation if it fell on her uncovered skin?"

"You say that, mother, as if you doubt whether Miss Dunross told me the
truth."

"No, George. I only doubt whether she told you _all_ the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't be offended, my dear. I believe Miss Dunross has some more
serious reason for keeping her face hidden than the reason that she gave
_you_."

I was silent. The suspicion which those words implied had never occurred
to my mind. I had read in medical books of cases of morbid nervous
sensitiveness exactly similar to the case of Miss Dunross, as described
by herself--and that had been enough for me. Now that my mother's idea
had found its way from her mind to mine, the impression produced on
me was painful in the last degree. Horrible imaginings of deformity
possessed my brain, and profaned all that was purest and dearest in my
recollections of Miss Dunross. It was useless to change the subject--the
evil influence that was on me was too potent to be charmed away by talk.
Making the best excuse that I could think of for leaving my mother's
room, I hurried away to seek a refuge from myself, where alone I could
hope to find it, in the presence of Mrs. Van Brandt.

CHAPTER XXVII. CONVERSATION WITH MRS. VAN BRANDT.

THE landlady was taking the air at her own door when I reached
the house. Her reply to my inquiries justified my most hopeful
anticipations. The poor lodger looked already "like another woman";
and the child was at that moment posted on the stairs, watching for the
return of her "new papa."

"There's one thing I should wish to say to you, sir, before you go
upstairs," the woman went on. "Don't trust the lady with more money at
a time than the money that is wanted for the day's housekeeping. If
she has any to spa