“Sometimes it seems to me I could bear it better if I knew he was dead. If he isn't dead, he's out of his mind! He's out of his mind, don't you think, and he's wandered off somewhere?” She besought him so pitifully to agree with her, bending forward and trying to read the thoughts in his face, that he could not help saying, “Perhaps.” A gush of grateful tears blinded her, but she choked down her sobs. “I said things to him that night that were enough to drive him crazy. I was always the one in fault, but he was always the one to make up first, and he never would have gone away from me if he had known what he was doing! But he will come back, I know he will,” she said, rising. “And oh, you won't say anything to anybody, will you? And he'll get back before they find out. I will send those men to you, and Bartley will see about it as soon as he comes home--” “Don't go, Mrs. Hubbard,” said the lawyer. “I want to speak with you a little longer.” She dropped again in her chair, and looked at him inquiringly. “Have you written to your father about this?” “Oh, no,” she answered quickly, with an effect of shrinking back into herself. “I think you had better do so. You can't tell when your husband will return, and you can't go on in this way.” “I will never tell _father_,” she replied, closing her lips inexorably. The lawyer forbore to penetrate the family trouble he divined. “Are you all alone in the house?” he asked. “The girl is there. And the baby.” “That won't do, Mrs. Hubbard,” said Atherton, with a compassionate shake of the head. “You can't go on living there alone.” “Oh, yes, I can. I'm not afraid to be alone,” she returned with the air of having thought of this. “But he may be absent some time yet,” urged the lawyer; “he may be absent indefinitely. You must go home to your father and wait for him there.” “I can't do that. He must find me here when he comes,” she answered firmly. “But how will you stay?” pleaded Atherton; he had to deal with an unreasonable creature who could not be driven, and he must plead. “You have no money, and how can you live?” “Oh,” replied Marcia, with the air of having thought of this too, “I will take boarders.” Atherton smiled at the hopeless practicality, and shook his head; but he did not oppose her directly. “Mrs. Hubbard,” he said earnestly, “you have done well in coming to me, but let me convince you that this is a matter which can't be kept. It must be known. Before you can begin to help yourself, you must let others help you. Either you must go home to your father and let your husband find you there--” “He must find me here, in our own house.” “Then you must tell your friends here that you don't know where he is, nor when he will return, and let them advise together as to what can be done. You must tell the Hallecks--”