y day in care of William."

Matilda broke down at the last moment.

"If it wasn't for you, ma'am, I wouldn't care if it was me that
was sick, instead of my sister, and if I never got well. For with
William--"

She could say no more, and departed adrip with tears.

Matilda's nightly visits were a loss; but Mrs. De Peyster had come
to take her situation more and more philosophically. The life was
unspeakably tedious, to be sure, and rather dangerous, too; but she
had accepted the predicament--it had to be endured and could not be
helped; and such a state of mind made her circumstances much easier
to support. All in all, there was no reason, though, of course, it
was most uncomfortable--there was no good reason, she kept assuring
herself, why she might not safely withstand the siege and come out of
the affair with none but her two confidants being the wiser.

In this philosophic mood three more days passed--passed slowly
and tediously, to be sure, but yet they did get by. There were
relaxations, of course,--things to occupy her mind. She read a little
each day; she listened to Mary's concert in the drawing-room below
her--for Mary dared to continue playing despite Matilda's absence,
since it was known that Matilda's niece was in the house, though Mary
never showed her face; she listened for snatches of the conversation
of Jack and Mary and Mr. Pyecroft when they passed her door; at times
she stood upon a chair at one of her windows and cautiously peered
through the little panes in her shutters, like the lens of a camera,
down into the sunny green of Washington Square.

Also, of evenings, she found herself straining to hear the voice of
Judge Harvey. When she surprised herself at this, she would flush
slightly, and again raise her book close to her shaded candle.

Then, of course, her meals were a diversion. She became quite expert
with the can-opener and the corkscrew. The empty cans, since there was
no way to get them out of her suite, she stacked on the side of the
bathroom opposite her provisions; and daily the stack grew higher.

The nearest approach to an incident during this solitary period came
to pass on the third night after Matilda's departure. On that evening
Mrs. De Peyster became aware of a new voice in the house--a voice with
a French accent. It seemed familiar, yet for a time she was puzzled as
to the identity of the voice's owner. Then suddenly she knew: the man
below was M. Dubois, whom Olivetta,