wound which might almost have been
caused by a poisoned arrow; ah me! the healing takes a weary long time
or maybe can never heal. Truly love is a dangerous thing.

CHAPTER IX

'I say, Mab, there's such a delightful monkey outside, do lend me
sixpence?'

Mrs Seaton looks up from a telegram she is reading and says to Philippa,
'Never mind the monkey, I've just had this from George and--'

'Is he ill?' inquires Lippa.

'No, but--'

'Do give me the sixpence then, I will be back in a moment again.'

Mabel produces the coin, and Philippa having delivered it hurries back.
'He was so pleased,' she says, 'the dear little--' but her
sister-in-law's face causes her to stop and inquire hastily, 'What has
happened, do tell me?' her thoughts recurring at once to Jimmy
Dalrymple.

'Well, dear,' says Mabel, 'George has telegraphed to me the death of--'

'Who?' asks Philippa, clutching at a chair near her.

'No one you ever knew,' replies Mabel, guessing the question that she
would ask.

'Ah!' and Lippa breathes a sigh of relief, 'is it a friend of George's
or Paul's?' 'wife' she is going to say but hesitates.

'No,' replies Mabel, 'it is someone who has been in an asylum for many
years,' she pauses wondering how to go on when Philippa spares her the
trouble by saying,

'My mother?'

'How did you guess?' says Mabel, surprised.

Lippa heeds her not. 'Somebody I never knew,' she murmurs to herself,
'somebody I never knew, and yet my mother; how strange. Tell me about
her,' she adds, 'when, did she go--_mad_?'

'I thought you knew nothing about it,' says Mabel, 'your mother had a
shock when you were two years old, which affected her brain, and of
course at the time you were too young to understand and it was thought
best not to tell you anything, even when you were older; but dearest,
who told you of this, George and I were under the impression you knew
nothing about it?'

'I overheard you talking about my mother to Lady Dadford. I know it was
wrong, Mab, but I could not help it, and I thought that perhaps it would
be just as well not to let you know. Was it wrong?'

Mrs Seaton finds it hard to reprove the owner of the face that is lifted
to hers, with such a wistful look in the blue eyes. 'I think you ought
to have told me,' she says gravely, 'it would have made no difference to
anyone, but still it does not matter now; and we shall hear all
particulars from George to-morrow; he says he is writing.'

Ther