"No one told her. She must have listened at the door last night. It was like her low, mean disposition to be peeping, and prying, and listening to what did not concern her," Mrs. Cleveland bursts out, scornfully. "Pardon me, but our conversation _did_ concern her," he answers, gravely. "At least, it was not intended for her hearing," she replies, shortly. Mr. Noble is silent a moment, gazing earnestly at the pale, dead face, from which the woman's eyes turn in fear and aversion. "Perhaps we have wronged her," he says, slowly. "If she had been what you believed her--coarse and low, and violent like her father--would she have been driven," shudderingly, "to this!" "You are allowing a maudlin sentimentality to run away with your reason, Leslie," the woman answers, coldly. "Do you suppose I have lied to you? The girl has lived here since infancy. I knew her temper well, and I repeat that she was unbearable. I only endured her for her mother's sake. This is very sad. Of course, you feel badly over it. And yet, common sense whispers that this is a most fortunate thing for you. You are freed from a galling bond. Had she lived, she would almost inevitably have become a sorrow and a disgrace to you." "We should not speak ill of the dead," he answers, a little sternly. "Pardon me; I know there are some truths which we innately feel, but should not give expression to," she answers, with keen irony. "Does Ivy know?" he asks her. "Not yet; poor dear, I have been watching by her bedside all night. She is ill and almost heart-broken. I must go and break the news to her now." She moves to the door, but, seeing him standing irresolute in the center of the floor, looks back over her shoulder to say, anxiously: "Will you come away now, Leslie? The women would like to come in to prepare the body for the grave." He shivers, and turns to follow her, casting one long, lingering look at the fair, immobile face upon the pillow. "I did not know she was so beautiful," he murmurs to himself as he passes out. "Have you no message to send Ivy?" Mrs. Cleveland asks him, as they pass along the hall. "She would be so glad of even one kind word from you." "I thought you interdicted all intercourse between us last night," he answers, blankly. "Yes; but the _obstacle_ no longer remains," she replies, significantly, and, with a violent start, Leslie realizes the truth of her words. In his horror and surprise he had not thought of it before. Yes, Vera's death has set him free--free to marry Ivy when he will. "Tell her that I am very sorry she is ill. I hope she will soon be better," he answers, gravely and courteously. He will not say more now out of respect to the dead, and Mrs. Cleveland is wise enough not to press him. Ivy, whose pretended illness is altogether a sham, is jubilant over the news. "Was there ever anything more fortunate?" she exclaims. "Lucky for us that she listened, and found out the truth."