She was in workaday attire, to set her house in order and prepare for what she hoped was to be a season of peace in her hitherto tempestuous life. Dawn was off her hands finally, she felt, and she had no serious forebodings concerning her share in the matter. The hard part had been to get the girl off without her finding out the trick that had been played on her. It had amazed the step-mother that her plan had worked so well. She had been prepared for the discovery to be made soon after the ceremony, but she had trusted to Dawn’s fear of publicity, and Charles’s evident infatuation, to hush the matter up. Mrs. Van Rensselaer had been reasonably sure that she could even keep it from her husband’s knowledge, though she was prepared with a plausible story in case he remonstrated. His sense of pride would make him readily persuadable to almost any plan that would hide their mortification from curious friends. She had been sure that she could make him see that the whole thing had been done for his daughter’s good. And now that the step-mother had succeeded even better than she had hoped, in getting the couple off on their wedding trip without either one discovering her duplicity, she had been at rest about the matter. Charles was enough in love to be able to make everything all right, and he would never blame her for having furthered his plans, even though not quite in the way he had arranged. Dawn could not fail to be pleased with the husband her step-mother had secured for her, and even would thank her in later life, perhaps, for having helped her to him. And so Mrs. Van Rensselaer had gone placidly about the house, putting things to rights, and enjoying the prospect of a comfortable future without the fear of an unloved step-daughter’s presence haunting her. But when she saw Charles’s face a pang of fear shot through her and left her trembling with apprehension. His voice sounded hollow and accusatory when he spoke: "Is Dawn here, Mrs. Van Rensselaer?" A thousand possibilities rushed through the woman’s brain at once, and she felt herself brought suddenly before an awful judgment bar. What had she done? How had she dared? How swift was retribution! Not even one whole day of satisfaction, after all her trouble! She tried to summon a natural voice, but it would not come. Her throat felt dry, and as if it did not belong to her, as she answered: "Here? No. How could she be here? Didn’t you take her away?" The young man sat down suddenly in the nearest chair with a groan, and dropped his head into his hands. The woman stood silent, frightened, before him. "Mrs. Van Rensselaer, what have you done? Why did you do it?"