third time," continued Mr. Cheyne: "you may judge
how sacred women are in my eyes now! Dear motherly Mrs. Van Hollick!
when she at last suffered me to depart, she kissed and blessed me as
though I were her own son. Never to my dying day shall I forget her
goodness. My one thought, after seeing Magdalene, will be how I am to
repay her goodness,--how I can make prosperity flow in on the little
household, that the cruse and cake may never fail!"

"But," interrupted Phillis at this point, "did you not write, or your
friends write for you, to England?"

Mr. Cheyne smiled bitterly:

"It seems as though some strange fatality were over me. Yes, I wrote.
I wrote to Magdalene, to my lawyer, and to another friend who had
known me all my life, but the ship that carried these letters was
burnt at sea. I only heard that when I at last worked my way to
Portsmouth as a common sailor and in that guise presented myself at my
lawyer's chambers. Poor man! I thought he would have fainted when he
saw me. He owned afterwards he was a believer in ghosts at that
moment."

"How long ago was that?" asked Phillis, gently.

"Two months; not longer. It was then I heard of my children's death,
of my wife's long illness and her strange state. I was ill myself, and
not fit to battle through any more scenes. Mr. Standish took me home
until I had rested and recovered myself a little; and then I put on
this disguise--not that much of that is necessary, for few people
would recognize me, I believe--and came down here and took possession
of Mrs. Williams's lodgings."

Phillis looked at him with mute questioning in her eyes. She did not
venture to put it into words, but he understood her:

"Why have I waited so long, do you ask? and why am I living here
within sight of my own house, a spy on my own threshold and wife? My
dear Miss Challoner, there is a bitter reason for that!

"Four years ago I parted from my wife in anger. There were words said
that day that few women could forgive. Has she forgiven them? That is
what I am trying to find out. Will the husband who has been dead to
her all these years be welcome to her living?" His voice dropped into
low vehemence, and a pallor came over his face as he spoke.

Phillis laid her hand on his own. She looked strangely eager:

"This is why you want my help. Ah! I see now! Oh, it is all right--all
that you can wish! It is she who is tormenting herself, who has no
rest day or night! When the thunder came