It was broad, bright day when the Aurora came whirring home. Chester nodded to his wife at the window, but went directly to the stables. It was a little longer than she expected before he returned. She waited at the head of the stairs, then hurried half-way down to meet him. Her white robe was ungirdled and flowing; it fell apart--the laces above from the laces below--and the tired man's kiss fell upon her soft throat. She was naturally a worrier in a sweet-natured way, but he had always been patient with her little weakness; some men are, with anxious women. "No," he smiled, but rather feebly; "you've missed it again. The boy is saved. St. Clair's got hold of him. I'll talk presently, Mary--not just now." In fact, he would say no more till he had bathed and taken food. He looked so exhausted that she brought his breakfast to his bed, serving it with her own hands, and asking no questions at all; for, although she worried, she was wise. She sent for the baby, too--a big baby, three years old--and Chester enfolded the chin of the child in his slender brown hand silently. Then he said: "Lock the door, Mary. I've something to tell you." When she had drawn the brass bolt and returned, somewhat pale herself with wonder and alarm, to the side of the bed, her husband spoke abruptly: "Mary, you've got to know it--may as well have it over. I found this pinned on the stable wall. It was the Aurora that ran over the--that--that poor little fellow." His hand shook as he laid the piece of paper in her own. And while she read it he covered his face; for he was greatly over-worn, and the strain which he had undergone seemed now to have leaped again with the spring of a creature that one supposes one has left lifeless behind. Mrs. Chester read the writing and laid it down. It ran like this: MR. CHESTER: Sir,--Ime goin away while I can. It was me run over that boy while you was in town. I took Her out for a spin. I let Her out some racin with another one in the Willows an he got under Her someways. I see it in the papers so I was afraid of manslorter. Ime awful cut up about it so Ime goin to lite out while I can. Your obedient servant, THOMAS. The eyes of the husband and wife met silently. She was the first to speak. "Do they know?" Chester shook his head. "You'll tell them, of course?" "I haven't made up my mind." The baby was jabbering loudly on the bed--he was very noisy; it was not easy for her to hear what was said. "I'm sure you ought to tell them!" she cried, passionately. "Perhaps so. But I'd like to think it over." A subtle terror slid over her face. "What can they do to you? I don't know about such things. Is there any--law?" "Laws enough--laws in plenty. But I'm not answerable for the crimes of my chauffeur. It's only a question of damages." The wife of the rich man drew a long breath. "Oh, if it's nothing but _money_!"