"Oh, my poor love, I understand you," said the widow. "I do not know in what words to approach your terribly grieved heart--there is only one thing which I feel impelled to say, and which may possibly at some time comfort you. Your beautiful boy's fate is less tragical than the fate which has fallen upon my only son. When Frank was a little child, Margaret, he had a dreadful illness--I thought he would die. I was frantic, for his father had died not long before. I prayed earnestly to God. I vowed a vow to train the boy in the paths of righteousness, as never boy had been trained before. I vowed to do for Frank what no other mother had ever done, if only God would leave him to me. My prayer was answered, and my child was saved. Think of him now, Margaret. Margaret, think of him now." "I do," answered Margaret. "I have always felt for you--my heart has always been bitter with grief for you--don't you know it?" "I do, I do--you have been the soul of all that could be sweet and dear to me. Except Frank himself, I love no one as I love you. Ah!"--Mrs. Everett suddenly started to her feet--the room door had been slowly opened and Awdrey walked in. His face was very pale and more emaciated looking than ever--his eyes were bright, and had sunk into his head. "Well," he said, with a sort of queer assumption of cheerfulness, "here I am. I came back sooner than I expected. How are you Maggie?" He went up to his wife and kissed her. "How do you do, Mrs. Everett?" "I am well," said Mrs. Everett. "How are you, are you better?" "Yes, I am much better--in fact, there is little or nothing the matter with me." He sat down on a sofa as he spoke and stared at his wife with a puzzled expression between his brows. "What in the world are you in that heavy black for?" he said suddenly. "I must wear it," she said. "You cannot ask me to take it off." "Why should I ask you?" he replied. "Do not excite yourself in that way, Maggie. If you like to look hideous, do so. Black, heavy black, of that sort, does not suit you--and you are absolutely in crepe--what does all this mean? It irritates me immensely." "People wear crepe when those they love die," said Margaret. "Have you lost a relation?--Who?" She did not answer. A moment later she left the room. When she did so Awdrey got up restlessly, walked to the fire and poked it, then he approached the window and looked out. After a time he returned to his seat. Mrs. Everett sat facing him. It was her wont to sit very still--often nothing seemed to move about her except her watchful eyes. To-day she had more than ever the expression of a person who is quietly watching and waiting. Awdrey, inert as he doubtlessly was, seemed to feel her gaze--he looked at her. "Where have you been, Mr. Awdrey?" she asked gently. "Did you visit the Continent?" He favored her with a keen, half-suspicious glance.