"Who is that gentleman, John?" she said. "I have been feeling quite anxious." "He has brought me strange news, Rachel," answered John Temple, gravely. He called her now by her Christian name, as she had expressed a wish that he should do so. "Strange news?" she repeated, and her face grew paler. "Yes; May is alive--and--" "Then what will you do?" asked the agitated woman before him, almost with a gasp. "There is but one thing for me to do." "You mean--" "I will go to her; we must be remarried--for I have other news for you; this gentleman, Mr. Webster, has brought me other news--my first wife, Kathleen Weir, is dead." A half-cry broke from Mrs. Temple's white lips, and that was all. She stood there with wide-open eyes and heaving breast. John Temple's news was a death-blow to her new hopes of happiness and love, but still she could speak no word. "It seems," went on John Temple, scarcely daring to look at her white face, "that this Mr. Webster knew all the time where May was--at some hospital or other--but by May's especial wish he kept this a secret." "And she calls this love!" cried Mrs. Temple, wildly and passionately. "Love! to make you endure such pain; to make your life a burden; each day a fresh pang! If this is love, I know not what it is." "It seems strange," said John Temple, and then without another word he went away. * * * * * An hour or so later two men were sitting in the same railway carriage together traveling to town, but they were not talking of the loves or the tragedies of their lives. They were talking gravely of the passing topics of the day, of politics, of books, and the names of May Churchill and Kathleen Weir were never once mentioned between them. Not at least until they reached the terminus and were about to separate for the night. Then as they shook hands, John Temple said quietly: "At what time will you see May in the morning?" "Early," answered Webster; "about eleven o'clock." "Then will you telegraph to me, and I will go to her? I will also see her father." "And--" hesitated Webster; "what will you say to him?" "Best tell him the truth, I think, and Mr. Churchill will see the wisdom and prudence of keeping it to himself. Besides he had better be present at our marriage." "And my aunts?" "Is there any reason to say anything to them? They know nothing, and they may as well continue in ignorance of a painful story. And now again many thanks." So they parted, and Webster went back to his lonely chambers, and thought of what he had done. "If it is for her happiness," and then he sighed wearily; somehow he was not quite sure that it would be.