To the people of Longfields there was mystery in certain periods of Dr. Alton's past. Those seven years abroad were secret history. The little son and his unknown mother had invited explanation. But explanations were not offered. Moreover, it was soon realized by his neighbors that Dr. Alton's private affairs were his own, and were not for publication. But people had surely a right to wonder why a physician with his exceptional education and opportunities should give so little thought to distinction in larger fields and prefer obscurity in a forgotten little village. Miss Anita Clement and some other women believed that this handsome young doctor had been the victim of a blighting passion; that his heart, if not broken, had received a wound that never healed. But all that was speculative. Of some things, however, they were sure. One was that his gentle manner, his never failing help and kindness to poor and prosperous alike, had resulted in a sincere affection for him, not only in Longfields itself but in the neighboring villages. To every member of the little community in which he lived and worked for nearly thirty years his death was a personal loss. To Cyrus, this sudden, unexpected ending was a blow that stunned. Many days were to pass before he fully realized how irreparable was his loss. That his father's death should come when it did made sorrow doubly keen. Of what good this sudden wealth when his best friend, after these years of economy and self sacrifice, was not here to enjoy it? And that trip abroad together--only a month away! Cyrus had this consolation, however, that the end was free from suffering. An hour before his death--in a sunny November afternoon--his father was reclining comfortably in his easy chair when he told Cyrus where to find a package of letters in the further corner of a certain drawer in his desk. Cyrus brought them. Then he sat by his father's side and, as the letters, after being read, were handed him, one by one, he dropped them into the fire. Some were limp and worn from many readings. With them was a photograph of a woman's face. After a moment's hesitation Dr. Alton handed it to his son. "That's your mother, Cyrus." With unspeakable emotion the son gazed upon this face. Her eyes looked straight into his own. They were deep, dark, tragic--yet smiling. It seemed to Cyrus that he had always known this face--and loved it. He gazed in silence, overcome by feelings quite different from anything he had heretofore experienced. His father's voice recalled him to himself. The voice was becoming weaker. "Destroy this picture, Cyrus. If you ever meet her keep your knowledge to yourself. Let her be the first--to greet you." So low was his voice that Cyrus bent forward to get his words. "Remember, always remember, she is a good woman." Dr. Alton leaned back and closed his eyes. A faint smile came to his lips. He whispered a name-- "Francesca."