he little shoes. Such
short-sightedness in face of a great peril could be pardoned Mrs.
Ocumpaugh on the verge of delirium under her cold exterior, but Mrs.
Carew should have taken this possibility into account; and would have
done so, probably, had she not been completely absorbed in the part she
would be called upon to play when the exchange of children should be
made and Gwendolen be intrusted to her charge within a dozen rods of her
own home. This she could dwell on with the whole force of her mind; this
she could view in all its relations and make such a study of as to
provide herself against all contingencies. But the obvious danger of a
gang of men being placed just where they could serve as witnesses, in
contradiction of the one fact upon which the whole plot was based, never
even struck her imagination.

The nursery-governess whose heart was divided between her duty to the
child and her strong love of music, was chosen as their unconscious
accomplice in this fraud. As the time for the great musicale approached,
she was bidden to amuse Gwendolen in the bungalow, with the
understanding that if the child fell asleep she might lay her on the
divan and so far leave her as to take her place on the bench outside
where the notes of the solo singers could reach her. That Gwendolen
would fall asleep and fall asleep soon, the wretched mother well knew,
for she had given her a safe but potent sleeping draft which could not
fail to insure a twelve hours' undisturbed slumber to so healthy a
child. The fact that the little one had shrunk more than ever from her
attentions that morning both hurt and encouraged her. Certainly it would
make it easier for Mrs. Carew to influence Gwendolen. In her own mind
filled with terrible images of her husband's grief and her long
prospective dissimulation, one picture rose in brilliant contrast to the
dark one embodying her own miserable future and that of the soon-to-be
bereaved father. It was that of the perfect joy of the hungry-hearted
child in the arms of the woman she loved best. It brought her cheer--it
brought her anguish. It was a salve to her conscience and a mortal
thrust in an already festering wound. She shut it from her eyes as much
as possible,--and so, the hour came.

We know its results--how far the scheme succeeded and whence its great
failure arose. Gwendolen fell asleep almost immediately on reaching the
bungalow and Miss Graham, dreaming no harm and having the most perf