sp upon him.

"No, no. I am better with you here. I wish you were never to leave me."

Again they sat a long time in silence. Then she said:

"Harry, can you write?"

"Yes."

"Well, there is a pencil on the table, and paper. Go and write your
father's name. Then come and give me a kiss, and then go home. I shall
see you again, perhaps to-night. I suppose I ought to apologize to Mrs.
Balfour for keeping you so long."

Harry did her bidding. She did not look at him, but turned her eyes to
the window. There she saw Mr. Belcher, who had just been sent away from
the door. He bowed, and she returned the bow, but the smile she summoned
to her face by force of habit, failed quickly, for her heart had learned
to despise him.

Harry wrote the name, left it upon the table, and then came to get his
kiss. The caress was calmer and tenderer than any she had given him. His
instinct detected the change; and, when he bade her a good night, it
seemed as if she had grown motherly,--as if a new life had been
developed in her that subordinated the old,--as if, in her life, the sun
had set, and the moon had risen.

She had no doubt that as Harry left the door Mr. Belcher would see him,
and seek admission at once on his hateful business, for, strong as his
passion was for Mrs. Dillingham, he never forgot his knavish affairs, in
which he sought to use her as a tool. So when she summoned the servant
to let Harry out, she told him that if Mr. Belcher should call, he was
to be informed that she was too ill to see him.

Mr. Belcher did call within three minutes after the door closed on the
lad. He had a triumphant smile on his face, as if he did not doubt that
Mrs. Dillingham had been engaged in forwarding his own dirty work. His
face blackened as he received her message, and he went wondering home,
with ill-natured curses on his lips that will not bear repeating.

Mrs. Dillingham closed the doors of her drawing-room, took the paper on
which Harry had written, and resumed her seat. For the hour that lay
between her and her dinner, she held the paper in her cold, wet hand.
She knew the name she should find there, and she determined that before
her eye should verify the prophecy of her heart, she would achieve
perfect self-control.

Excited by the interview with the lad, and the prescience of its waiting
_denouement_, her mind went back into his and his father's history. Mr.
Belcher could have alleviated that history; nay, prevented it