ed look. They did not find Mrs. Dinneford
in the parlor when they came in, nor did she make her appearance until
an hour afterward, when dinner was announced. Then it was plain to both
her husband and daughter that something had occurred since morning to
trouble her profoundly. The paleness noticed by Edith at the window and
the scared look remained. Whenever she turned her eyes suddenly upon
her mother, she found her looking at her with a strange, searching
intentness. It was plain that Mrs. Dinneford saw in Edith's face as
great a change and mystery as Edith saw in hers, and the riddle of her
husband's countenance, so altered since morning, was harder even than
Edith's to solve.

A drearier Christmas dinner, and one in which less food was taken
by those who ate it, could hardly have been found in the city. The
Briar-street feast was one of joy and gladness in comparison. The
courses came and went with unwonted quickness, plates bearing off the
almost untasted viands which they had received. Scarcely a word was
spoken during the meal. Mrs. Dinneford asked no question about the
dinner in Briar street, and no remark was made about it by either
Edith or her father. In half the usual time this meal was ended. Mrs.
Dinneford left the table first, and retired to her own room. As she did
so, in taking her handkerchief from her pocket, she drew out a letter,
which fell unnoticed by her upon the floor. Mr. Dinneford was about
calling her attention to it when Edith, who saw his purpose and was near
enough to touch his hand, gave a quick signal to forbear. The instant
her mother was out of the room she sprang from her seat, and had just
secured the letter when the dining-room door was pushed open, and Mrs.
Dinneford came in, white and frightened. She saw the letter in Edith's
hand, and with a cry like some animal in pain leaped upon her and tried
to wrest it from her grasp. But Edith held it in her closed hand with
a desperate grip, defying all her mother's efforts to get possession of
it. In her wild fear and anger Mrs. Dinneford exclaimed,

"I'll kill you if you don't give me that letter!" and actually, in
her blind rage, reached toward the table as if to get a knife. Mr.
Dinneford, who had been for a moment stupefied, now started forward,
and throwing his arms about his wife, held her tightly until Edith
could escape with the letter, not releasing her until the sound of his
daughter's retiring feet were no longer heard. By th