e glanced wonderingly, first at Helen, at her mother, and then at
Wilford, as if trying to comprehend what had happened.

"Have I been sick?" she asked in a whisper, and Wilford, bending over
her, replied: "Yes, darling, very sick for nearly two whole weeks--ever
since I left home that morning, you know."

"Yes," and Katy shivered a little. "Yes, I know. But where is Morris? He
was here the last I can remember."

Wilford's face grew dark at once, and stepping back as Morris came in,
he said: "She asks for you." Then with a rising feeling of resentment he
watched them, while Morris spoke to Katy, telling her she was better,
but must keep very quiet, and not allow herself in any way to be
excited.

"Have I been crazy? Have I talked much?" she asked, and when Morris
replied in the affirmative there came a startled look into her eye, as
she said: "Of what or whom have I talked most?"

"Of Genevra," was the answer, and Katy continued: "Did I mention no one
else?"

Morris guessed of whom she was thinking, and answered, indifferently:
"You spoke of Miss Hazelton in connection with baby, but that was all."

Katy was satisfied, and closing her eyes fell away to sleep again, while
Morris made his preparations for leaving. It hardly seemed right for him
to go just then, but the only one who could have kept him maintained a
frigid silence with regard to a longer stay, and so the first train
which left New York for Springfield carried Dr. Grant, and Katy was
without a physician.

Wilford had hoped that Mrs. Lennox, too, would see the propriety of
accompanying Morris; but she would not leave Katy, and Wilford was fain
to submit to what he could not help. No explanation whatever had he
given to Mrs. Lennox or Helen with regard to Genevra. He was too proud
for that, but his mother had deemed it wise to smooth the matter over as
much as possible, enjoining upon them both the necessity of secrecy.

"When I tell you that neither my husband or daughters know it, you will
understand that I am greatly in earnest in wishing it kept," she said.
"It was a most unfortunate affair, and though the divorce is, of
course, to be lamented, it is better that she died. We never could have
received her as our equal."

"Was anything the matter, except that she was poor?" Mrs. Lennox asked,
with as much dignity as was in her nature to assume.

"Well, no. She had a good education, I believe, and was very pretty; but
it makes trouble always wher