, and the scandal was terrific. Mrs.
Enderby and her child disappeared in a day or two. It was said that
ladies from London had come and fetched her away, and she was no more
heard of in that little town.

Miss Bygrave, an elder sister of Mrs. Enderby, had received a letter
from Paul summoning her to the wife's aid: and this letter, dated from
Liverpool, after disclosing in a few words the whole situation, went on
to say that the writer, though he would never more be seen by those who
knew him, would not fail to send his wife what money he could as often
as he could. And, after half a year, sums had begun to be remitted, in
envelopes bearing a Californian postmark. They were not much use,
however, to Mrs. Enderby. A few days after her arrival at her home in
London, she had been discovered hanging, with a rope round her neck,
from a nail behind her bedroom door. Cut down in time, her life was
saved, but reason had forsaken her. She was taken away to an asylum,
and remained there for five years.

By that time, she seemed to have quite recovered. Her home was now to
be with her sister, Theresa Bygrave. Her child, Maud Enderby, was
nearly seven years old. Mrs. Enderby returned to the world not quite
the same woman as when she left it. She had never lacked character, and
this now showed itself in one immutable resolution. Having found that
the child had learnt nothing of its parents, she determined that this
ignorance should continue; or rather that it should be exchanged for
the belief that those parents were both long dead. She dwelt apart,
supported by her sister. Finally, after ten years' absence, Paul
Enderby returned to England, and lived again with his wife. But Maud,
their daughter, still believed herself alone in the world, save for her
aunt, Miss Bygrave.

At the time when Waymark and Ida were together at Hastings, Mrs.
Enderby called one evening at Miss Bygrave's house--the house of Maud's
childhood, still distinguished by the same coldness, bareness and
gloom, the same silence echoing to a strange footfall. Theresa Bygrave
had not greatly altered; tall, upright, clad in the plainest black
garment, she walked into the room with silent dignity, and listened to
a suggestion made by her brother-in-law.

"We have talked it over again," said Paul, "and we have decided to take
this step."

He paused and watched the listener's face eagerly, glancing quickly
away as soon as she looked up.

"And you still wish me t