t know it?"

"Not altogether, and I must know it altogether. First, what has become
of the child?"

"She is safe and happy. You have seen her; you mentioned doing so just
now."

"Harry?"

"Harry."

I rose before her in intense excitement. What a plot! I stood aghast at
its daring and the success it had so nearly met with.

"I've had moments of suspicion," I admitted, after a short examination
of this beautiful woman's face for the marks of strength which her part
in this plot seemed to call for. "But they all vanished before Mrs.
Carew's seemingly open manner and the perfect boyishness of the child.
Is she an actress too--Gwendolen?"

"Not when she plays horse and Indian and other boyish games. She is only
acting out her nature. She has no girl tastes; she is all boy, and it
was by means of these instincts that Mrs. Carew won her. She promised
her that if she would leave home and go with her to Europe she would cut
her hair and call her Harry, and dress her so that every one would think
her a boy. And she promised her something else--that she should go to
her father--Gwendolen idolizes Mr. Ocumpaugh."

"But--"

"I know. You wonder why, if I loved my husband, I should send away the
one cherished object of his life. It is because our love was threatened
by this very object. I saw nothing but death and chaos before me if I
kept her. My husband adores the child, but he hates and despises a
falsehood and my secret was threatened by the one man who knows it--your
Doctor Pool. My accomplice once, he declared himself ready to become my
accuser if the child remained under the Ocumpaugh roof one day after the
date he fixed for her removal."

"Ah!" I ejaculated, with sudden comprehension of the full meaning of the
scrawls I had seen in so many parts of the grounds. "And by what right
did he demand this? What excuse did he give you? His wish for money,
immense money--old miser that he is!"

"No; for money I could have given him. His motive is a less tangible
one. He has scruples, he says--religious scruples following a change of
heart. Oh, he was a cruel man to meet, determined, inexorable. I could
not move or influence him. The proffer of money only hurt my cause. A
fraud had been perpetrated, he said, and Mr. Ocumpaugh must know it.
Would I confess the truth to him myself? No. Then he would do so for me
and bring proofs to substantiate his statements. I thought all was
lost--my husband's confidence, his love, his p