fore her wretched, questioning ones. "What do you
mean, Sylvia?" he said, in a faint voice.

"Do you know that Mr. Allen and Rose have come to an understanding
and are going to get married?"

Henry stared at her.

"She has just told me," said Sylvia. "Here I have done everything in
the world I could for her to make her contented."

"Sylvia, what on earth makes you feel so? She is only going to do
what every girl who has a good chance does--what you did yourself."

"Look at here," said Sylvia, in an awful voice.

"What are they?"

"I found them in a box up in the garret. They were cut from
newspapers years ago, when Rose was nothing but a child, just after
her mother died."

"What are they? Don't look so, Sylvia."

"Here," said Sylvia, and Henry took the little yellow sheaf of
newspaper clippings, adjusted his spectacles, moved the lamp nearer,
and began to read.

He read one, then he looked at Sylvia, and his face was as white as
hers. "Good God!" he said.

Sylvia stood beside him, and their eyes remained fixed on each
other's white face. "I suppose the others are the same," Henry said,
hoarsely.

Sylvia nodded. "Only from different papers. It's terrible how alike
they are."

"So you've had this on your mind?"

Sylvia nodded grimly.

"When did you find them?"

"We'd been living here a few days. I was up in the garret. There was
a box."

Henry remained motionless for a few moments. Then he sighed heavily,
rose, and took Sylvia by the hand. "Come," he said.

"What are you going to do?"

"Come."

Sylvia followed, dragging back a little at her husband's leading
hand, like a child. They passed through the dining-room into the
kitchen. "There's a fire in the stove, ain't there?" said Henry, as
they went.

Sylvia nodded again. She did not seem to have many words for this
exigency.

Out in the kitchen Henry moved a lid from the stove, and put the
little sheaf of newspaper clippings, which seemed somehow to have a
sinister aspect of its own, on the bed of live coals. They leaped
into a snarl of vicious flame. Henry and Sylvia stood hand in hand,
watching, until nothing but a feathery heap of ashes remained on top
of the coals. Then he replaced the lid and looked at Sylvia.

"Have you got any reason to believe that any living person besides
you and I knows anything about this?" he asked.

Sylvia shook her head.

"Do you think Miss Farrel knew?"

Sylvia shook her head again.

"Do you think