have
mercy on me."

"What is it?" whispered Hannah timidly, her voice tender with sympathy.

"Hush! I am going to tell you everything. Wait till we get home. I am
going to tell you all."

She spoke excitedly, though still in a whisper, and it was evident that
the agitation under which she labored was urging her on to actions in
which the voice of discretion and prudence had no part.

Hannah, who had long ago suspected that her beautiful friend--whose face
and voice, together with the luxury of her surroundings and dress had
made her acquaintance seem like intercourse with a being from a higher
sphere--was not happy, now felt an impulse of affectionate pity which
made her move closer to her companion and rather timidly put her arm
around her. In an instant she was folded in a close embrace, the bare
white arm under the wrap straining her in an ardent pressure that drew
her head down until it leaned against the breast of the taller woman,
and felt the bounding pulses of her heart.

"I am so miserable," whispered the soft voice close to her ear. "I am
going to tell you about it. If I couldn't talk to somebody to-night I
feel as if I should go mad. Whether it's right or wrong I'm going to
tell you. I can't bear it this way any longer. Oh, I am so unhappy--I
am so unhappy."

Hannah only pressed closer, without speaking. There was nothing that she
could say. She felt keenly that in what seemed the brilliant lot of her
beautiful friend there were possibilities of anguish which her
commonplace life could know nothing of. So they drove along in silence
until the carriage stopped at the door. Mr. Dallas was sleeping so
soundly that it was necessary for his wife to waken him, and he got up,
looking sleepy and confused, and led the way into the house, while the
carriage rolled away, the wheels reverberating down the silent streets.

In the hall Hannah looked at her friend and saw that her face, though
pale, was perfectly composed, and her voice, when she spoke to her
husband, was also quiet and calm.

"Hannah is going to stay all night, you know," she said. "You needn't
stay up for us. I will put out the lights."

He nodded sleepily and went at once up-stairs, as the two women turned
into the drawing-room. The lights in the chandelier were burning
brightly and a great deep chair was drawn under them, upon which Mrs.
Dallas sat down, motioning her friend to a seat facing her. She was
wearing the dress in which she had sun