Mrs. Dale, with a deadly white face, stopped short, turned and looked at her. “Why not?” she asked abruptly, in a whisper. “Why, because--because--” stammered the girl, “it was in there you fainted. Don’t you remember?” She took one of Mrs. Dale’s ice-cold hands in her own, in the hope of communicating the warmth of her own young blood to her terror-stricken friend. “I--I remember. I found you looking----” She broke off suddenly, snatched her hand from the girl’s, and ran into the next room. Mabin followed hesitatingly, and found her standing in front of the picture, with her eyes fixed upon it. Mabin said nothing, afraid lest by some unlucky word she should increase the mental distress of the unhappy woman. She uttered a cry as Mrs. Dale, turning upon her fiercely, asked in a tone which she had never used to her before: “Why did you come in here? And what made you draw back the curtains?” Then evidently regretting her violence of manner when she saw how strong an effect it had upon the girl, she added with an abrupt change to apologetic gentleness, and with tears of penitence in her eyes: “I beg your pardon, dear; but--but it is not like you to be so curious.” Mabin hesitated. She did not dare to tell Mrs. Dale what it was that had brought her into the room. For, she argued to herself, if the mere sight of this man’s portrait, and the belief that she had only dreamed she saw him, had such an effect upon the little woman, what might not the result be of finding that he had been there in the flesh? “The door was open,” she said at last. And she felt quite glad that Mrs. Dale evidently doubted her word, and looked again in a puzzled manner at the portrait. “What made you draw back the curtains?” was her next question. “I didn’t. I found the picture like that. I haven’t touched it,” answered Mabin quickly and rather indignantly. But her transitory anger passed away when she saw the change to deep trouble which instantly took place in Mrs. Dale’s face. Putting up her handkerchief with shaking fingers to her wet, white face, the little lady clung with the other hand to the old writing-table, by which she was standing. She was in a state of great agitation, but Mabin did not know whether she ought to appear to be conscious of the fact or not. At last Mrs. Dale asked, in a hoarse whisper: “That noise--I heard a noise in the house--and Annie, I saw Annie running upstairs--What was it?” “The drawing-room window had been left open and it banged against the shutter,” replied Mabin. “I went down and shut it, and Annie went down too.” She was ashamed to have to make this equivocal answer, but she dared not tell the whole truth--yet. She must have more of her friend’s confidence first, she must know more. And again she asked herself whether this man was some old lover of Mrs. Dale’s, who had been shut up on account of insanity, and of whose confinement Mrs. Dale had heard. She thought she would make an attempt to find out.