Herbert Dorrance's constitutional phlegm was a valuable ally in the very contracted quarters into which this question drove him, but his sister was his deliverer. Affecting forgetfulness of the letter and its contents, he glanced down one page, Mrs. Aylett leaning upon his arm, and reading with him. “I don't think you need mind telling the name, here and at this late day, Herbert,” she said, seriously and slowly, “provided Mabel will never repeat the story when it can do harm. Have you never heard any of us speak of poor Ellen Lester, my mother's niece, who died several years before your marriage?” accosting her sister-in-law, with a face so devoid of aught resembling cowardly or guilty fears, that Mabel's brain, tried and shaken, tottered into disbelief at her own wild surmises. “Not that I remember!” “Is that so? Yet it might easily have been. She accompanied her husband upon his last voyage, and the ship was never heard of again. Her parents are dead, too, so there are few to cherish her memory. She was a school-fellow of mine, and Herbert loved her as a sister.” Mabel was gazing fixedly at her husband's stolid countenance and averted eyes, and made no rejoinder until the silent intensity of her regards compelled him to look up. Reading distrust and alarm in these, he shook off his sister's warning hold. “When you wish to catechise me upon family matters, Mabel, it is my wish that you should do it in private,” he said, roughly. “Then you shall learn all that it concerns you to know. There are subjects into which only prurient curiosity cares to pry.” “I beg your pardon!” answered Mabel, quietly. “I have but to say, in self-defence, that I did not ask to see the letter.” “It is a matter of profound indifference to me whether you did or not,” was the reply. “For aught that I know or cared, you may have read it a year and a half ago. I retract nothing that is set down there. Clara, shall we go on with our music?” Glancing around stealthily at the finale of the (sic) he saw that Mabel's chair was vacant, and Mr. Aylett was reading composedly beneath the lamp. Clara made the same discovery at the same moment, and came forward laughing to her husband. “What had you been saying to our dear, excitable Mabel, that challenged the introduction of that unfortunate document?” “Told her of Frederic Chilton's intended marriage!” curtly, and without laying aside his volume. “Preposterous!” “I agree with you--but it is the truth.” Herbert stood apart glowing at the fire. “You must have approached the subject unskilfully,” urged the peacemaker. “These old sores are oest left alone.” “It is best for married woman to have none,” retorted Winston, doggedly. “She does not persist in doubting his unworthiness, does she?” queried the wife, aside, but not so cautiously that her brother did not hear her. He wheeled about suddenly.