about the place, smiling and talking to himself
like an imbecile, as he dreamed of the happiness so soon to crown his
trials. If he could have put himself in communication with Mary by
telegraph during this period of waiting, it would have been easier to
get through, but the nearest telegraph station was at the railroad.
In the afternoon he saddled a horse and rode about the country, thus
disposing of a couple of hours.

When he came back to the house, he saw that Pinney had returned, for his
horse was tethered to a post of the front piazza. The doors and windows
of the living-room were open, and as he reached the front door, he heard
Pinney and his wife talking in agitated tones.

"Oh, how could God let such an awful thing happen?" she was exclaiming,
in a voice broken by hysterical sobbing. "I 'm sure there was never
anything half so horrible before. Just as John was coming home to her,
and she worshiping him so, and he her! Oh, it will kill him! Who is
going to tell him? Who can tell him?"

"He must not be told to-day," said Pinney's voice. "We must keep it from
him at least for to-day."

Lansing entered the room. "Is she dead?" he asked quietly. He could not
doubt, from what he had overheard, that she was.

"God help him! He 'll have to know it now," exclaimed Pinney.

"Is she dead?" repeated Lansing.

"No, she is n't dead."

"Is she dying, then?"

"No, she is well."

"It's the children, then?"

"No," answered Pinney. "They are all right."

"Then, in God's name, what is it?" demanded Lansing, unable to conceive
what serious evil could have happened to him, if nothing had befallen
his wife and babies.

"We can't keep it from him now," said Pinney to his wife. "You 'll have
to give him her letter."

"Can't you tell me what it is? Why do you keep me in suspense?" asked
Lansing, in a voice husky with a dread he knew not of what.

"I can't, man. Don't ask me!" groaned Finney. "It's better that you
should read it."

Mrs. Finney's face expressed an agony of compassion as, still half
clutching it, she held out a letter to Lansing. "John, oh, John," she
sobbed; "remember, she's not to blame! She doesn't know."

The letter, was in his wife's handwriting, addressed to Mrs. Pinney, and
read as follows:--

You will be surprised by what I am going to tell you. You,
who know how I loved John, must have taken it for granted
that I would never marry again. Not that it could matter to
him