The idea of receiving under his roof the man he had betrayed was too much for Crane. Enough moral sense remained in him to make him shrink from that. He wrote Senator Bicknell a very friendly and even affectionate letter explaining that important business would take him away from home for that week, and expressing the deepest regret that he could not have the long-promised visit. And forthwith, on the promised day, Crane made an excuse of business, and went speeding toward the nearest city. He said no word to Annette about his letter from Senator Bicknell, but some suspicion of the actual state of things had crept into her mind. She knew that Crane was under obligations to Senator Bicknell, and a close reading of the newspapers had shown her that Crane and Governor Sanders were supposed to be mortal enemies. Yet, she knew that the Governor and Crane were in the most friendly communication, while Crane had ceased to mention Senator Bicknell’s name. And some anxiety was weighing upon him--that she saw plainly. She saw that Crane was prosperous, that he was rising in importance every day, and yet was miserable. He had grown thin and pale in those few weeks since he had entered into his evil compact. It could not be want of money, because Annette had never known him to be so well supplied. She begun to suspect some moral lapse on his part, and the thought nearly broke her heart--for Julian Crane was the love of her life; and she loved him in his degradation as profoundly as in the time when she had believed him to be the soul of honour. A singular complication came of Senator Bicknell’s letter. He did not get Crane’s in reply, and on the day he had proposed to be in Circleville he found himself at the little station. There was no one to meet him, but it was easy enough to find the way to Crane’s house--he was the local great man of Circleville. When he reached the house, with its many verandas, embowered in fine and vigorous elm-trees, the front door was wide open, and looking through the low, wide hall, he could see the garden beyond. There, under a tall lilac hedge, sat Annette in a rustic chair, sewing. On a rustic table before her the children had their books, and took turns reading aloud to her. As always, she was simply but freshly and becomingly dressed, and as the green light fell upon her fair hair and her pensive, pretty face, she made a charming picture for any man to contemplate. Senator Bicknell had an æsthetic soul as well as an honest heart, and the pretty scene appealed to him. He walked through the hall, into the trim garden, and, hat in hand, introduced himself to Annette.