desire,' he said, with deliberation. 'I cannot
answer for Mrs. Abbott, but, if you wish it, she shall know what you
have in mind.'

'I do wish it,' replied the lady earnestly. 'I beg you to put this
before her, and with all the persuasion you can use. I should be very,
very glad if she would allow me to free my conscience from a little of
this burden. Only that I dare not speak of it, I would try to convince
you that I am doing what my dear husband himself would have wished. You
can't believe it; no one will ever believe it; even Alma, I am
afraid--and that is so cruel, so dreadful; but he did not mean to wrong
people in this way. It wasn't in his nature. Who knew him better than
I, or so well? I know--if he could come back to us----'

Her voice broke. The piano below jingled more vivaciously than ever,
and a sound of shrill laughter pierced through the notes. Afraid to sit
silent, lest he should seem unsympathetic and sceptical, Rolfe murmured
a few harmless phrases, tending to nervous incoherence.

'I am thinking so much about Alma,' pursued the widow, recovering
self-command. 'I am so uncertain about my duty to her. Of her own, she
has nothing; but I know, of course, that her father wished her to share
in what he gave me. It is strange, Mr. Rolfe, that I should be talking
to you as if you were a relative--as if I had a right to trouble you
with these things. But if you knew how few people I dare speak to.
Wasn't it so much better for her to lead a very quiet life? And so I
gave her only a little money, only enough to live upon in the simplest
way. I hoped she would get tired of being among strangers, and come
back. And now I fear she thinks I have behaved meanly and selfishly.
And we were always so kindly disposed to each other, such thorough
friends; never a word that mightn't have passed between a mother and
her own child.'

'I gathered from her letter,' interposed Harvey, 'that she was well
contented and working hard at her music.'

'Do you think so? I began to doubt--she wrote in low spirits. Of
course, one can't say whether she would succeed as a violinist. Oh, I
don't like to think of it! I must tell you that I haven't said a word
to her yet of what I am doing; I mean, about the money. I know I ought
to consider _her_ as much as other people. Poor girl, who has suffered
more, and in so many ways? But I think of what I keep for myself as
hers. I was not brought up in luxury, Mr. Rolfe. It wouldn't seem to m