--suspects nothing." And the
girl broke down and wept as if her heart would break.

"Anna, for Heaven's sake, do stop crying. I hate a scene worse than
anything in the world. When a woman cries, it means but one thing, and
that is that the man must give in--and in this particular instance I
can't give in. It would ruin me with the governor to acknowledge our
marriage."

The girl's tears froze at his brutal words. She looked about dazed and
hopeless.

Sanderson was standing by the window, drumming a tattoo on the pane.
He wheeled about, and said slowly, as if he were feeling his way:

"Anna, suppose I give you a sum of money and you go away till all this
business is over. You can tell your mother or not; just as you see
fit. As far as I am concerned, it would be impossible for me to
acknowledge our marriage as I have said before. If the governor found
it out, he would cut me off without a cent."

"But, Lennox, I cannot leave my mother. Her health grows worse daily,
and it would kill her."

"Then take her with you. She's got to know, sooner or later, I
suppose. Now, don't be a stupid little girl, and everything will turn
out well for us." He patted her cheek, but it was done perfunctorily,
and Anna knew there was no use in making a further appeal to him.

"Well, my dear," he said, "I have got to take that 4.30 train back to
Cambridge. Here is something for you, and let me know just as soon as
you make up your mind, when you intend to go and where. There is no
use in your staying in Waltham till those old cats begin to talk."

He put a roll of bills in her hand, kissed her and was gone, and Anna
turned her tottering steps homeward, sick at heart. She must tell her
mother, and the shock of it might kill her. She pressed her hands over
her burning eyes to blot out the hideous picture. Could cruel fate
offer bitterer dregs to young lips?

She stopped at the postoffice for mail. There was nothing but the
daily paper. She took it mechanically and turned into the little side
street on which they lived.

The old family servant, who still lived with them, met her at the door,
and told her that her mother had been sleeping quietly for more than an
hour.

"Good gracious, Miss Anna, but you do look ill. Just step into the
parlor and sit down for a minute, and I'll make you a cup of tea."

Anna suffered herself to be led into the little room, smiling
gratefully at the old servant as she assisted her