what she intended; for some reason or other, she could not
remain as angry as she wished. What she said I will not repeat.

"Madam, I have no plans. If I have a Purpose, it is formless yet. If
God saves us what can you do?"

She made a gesture of contempt.

"You have no soul to thank me for what may be my work," and I opened
the door.

Ben stood on the threshhold.

"In God's name, what is this?"

I pointed to his mother. She looked uneasy, and stepping forward put
her hand on his arm; but he shook her off.

"You may call me a fool, Cassandra, for bringing you here," he said in
a bitter voice, "besides calling me cruel for subjecting you to these
ordeals. I knew how it would be with mother. What is it, madam?" he
asked imperiously, looking so much like her that I shuddered.

"It is not you she is after," she hotly exclaimed.

"No, I should think not." And he led her out swiftly.

I heard Mrs. Somers say at breakfast, as I went in, "We are to lose
Miss Cassandra on Wednesday." I looked at Desmond, who was munching
toast abstractedly. He made a motion for me to take the chair beside
him, which I obeyed. Ben saw this movement, and an expression of pain
passed over his face. At that instant I remembered that Desmond's
being seen in the evening and in the morning was a rare occurrence.
Mr. Somers took up the remark of Mrs. Somers where she had left it,
and expatiated on it till breakfast was over, so courteously and so
ramblingly that I was convinced the affair Ben had at heart had been
revealed. He invited me to go to church, and he spent the whole of the
evening in the parlor; and although Desmond hovered near me all day
and all the evening, we had no opportunity of speaking to each other.

CHAPTER XXXII.

On Tuesday morning Adelaide sent out invitations to a farewell
entertainment, as she called it, for Tuesday evening. Mrs. Somers,
affecting great interest in it, engaged my services in wiping the
dust from glass and china; "too valuable," she said, "for servants to
handle." We spent a part of the morning in the dining-room and pantry.
Ann was with us. If she went out, Mrs. Somers was silent; when present
she chatted. While we were busy Desmond came in, in riding trousers
and whip in hand.

"What nonsense!" he said, touching my hand with the whiplash. "Will
you ride with me after dinner?"

"I must have the horses at three o'clock," said his mother, "to go to
Mrs. Flint's funeral. She was a fam