what you are
doing in Emily's interests. I wish you would give it up."

"Why?"

"Because I see a danger. I don't deny that Emily is as innocent of
suspicion as ever. But the chances, next time, may be against us. How
do you know to what lengths your curiosity may lead you? Or on what
shocking discoveries you may not blunder with the best intentions?
Some unforeseen accident may open her eyes to the truth, before you can
prevent it. I seem to surprise you?"

"You do, indeed, surprise me."

"In the old story, my dear sir, Mentor sometimes surprised Telemachus.
I am Mentor--without being, I hope, quite so long-winded as that
respectable philosopher. Let me put it in two words. Emily's happiness
is precious to you. Take care you are not made the means of wrecking it!
Will you consent to a sacrifice, for her sake?"

"I will do anything for her sake."

"Will you give up your inquiries?"

"From this moment I have done with them!"

"Mr. Morris, you are the best friend she has."

"The next best friend to you, doctor."

In that fond persuasion they now parted--too eagerly devoted to Emily
to look at the prospect before them in its least hopeful aspect.
Both clever men, neither one nor the other asked himself if any human
resistance has ever yet obstructed the progress of truth--when truth has
once begun to force its way to the light.

For the second time Alban stopped, on his way home. The longing to
be reconciled with Emily was not to be resisted. He returned to the
cottage, only to find disappointment waiting for him. The servant
reported that her young mistress had gone to bed with a bad headache.

Alban waited a day, in the hope that Emily might write to him. No letter
arrived. He repeated his visit the next morning. Fortune was still
against him. On this occasion, Emily was engaged.

"Engaged with a visitor?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. A young lady named Miss de Sor."

Where had he heard that name before? He remembered immediately that he
had heard it at the school. Miss de Sor was the unattractive new pupil,
whom the girls called Francine. Alban looked at the parlor window as
he left the cottage. It was of serious importance that he should set
himself right with Emily. "And mere gossip," he thought contemptuously,
"stands in my way!"

If he had been less absorbed in his own interests, he might have
remembered that mere gossip is not always to be despised. It has worked
fatal mischief in its time.

C