"It was this woman who calls herself Mrs. Bent whom he followed away. Her name was Margie Ginter." Dr. Lister drew up a chair and sat down by Mrs. Lister. "How much of this is suspicion? How much do you really _know_?" Mrs. Lister started again. The storm increased in intensity without breaking. The rain fell in slow, heavy drops, audible as they struck the roof of the porch. Her voice, on a high and monotonous key, seemed to fill the house. "She lived here at the tavern. It was a terrible place. People who keep places of that kind pay some attention to public opinion now, but they didn't then. We found that he went there--my father thought it was to drink. Then one evening I came upon them, him and the girl, on Cherry Street in the dark, walking together under the thick trees. I was not often out alone in the evening, but it seemed that this had to happen. I heard her talking to Basil and I told my father. In a little while they left here, and then he went also." "Do you mean that your father could compel them to leave?" "No, I think they were just going. And Basil went too." "And then?" "Then, afterwards, he died. And she came back here, brazenly, with a little child and a married name. Once she spoke to me on the street. She said she would like to talk to me about him, but I told her I couldn't. I had Richard with me in the coach and it was right out in the open street. I was afraid to go out for weeks." "Did she ever make any other effort to speak to you?" "No; she seemed afraid." "But if what you think is true, the girl should be older than she is! It can't be, mother!" "I believe that she is older than she says. How else should she have got ahead of our Richard in school? That is the only way to account for it." Dr. Lister remembered the astonishing maturity of Eleanor's mind. "And I know what my eyes tell me!" cried Mrs. Lister. "Her eyes are Basil's eyes. It was her eyes Mr. Utterly was thinking of when he saw Basil's picture. I knew it. Her walk is his. She is Basil over again. For all these years I have had to look at her in church and on the street. I had begun to feel a little safe because I thought that now she might go away. Then this man came with his hateful inquiries." "Poor Mary Alcestis!" "I couldn't forbid her to go to college. I couldn't do anything but"--Mrs. Lister now broke down completely--"but watch and pray." "And you never told me!" "I couldn't tell any one about Basil. If you had known what a sweet little boy he was, perhaps I could have told you. And Richard--oh, Richard, Richard!" "I heard Mrs. Scott." "I went there to look for him." "To the Bents'!" "Yes, through all the lanes. It was quite dark and no one saw me. But I fell once; I was so excited and the lane was rough. Miss Bent and her mother were sitting together like innocent people, but he was not there. I said to myself that if he was I would go in and bring him home." "But, mother, this about Richard is imagination run mad!"