It was a terrible time for her, as she realised more and more, from various little things she saw, that Frank Mallow had, from old associations, regained his old power over Rue, and to her horror she felt certain that they had had stolen interviews. "What should she do?" she asked herself; and now she wished that Cyril was back, for suddenly, just as Sage was praying that John Berry would make up his mind to go home, he announced his intention of going alone. "It's bitter cold there after the place has been shut up, Churchwarden, and if thou does not mind I'll leave Rue and the little ones, and come over and fetch them in about a week's time." Frank glanced at Sage, and their eyes met, sending a thrill of horror through the latter, as she felt more and more sure that her sister was growing weaker; and Sage closed her eyes, and bitterly reproached her husband for leaving her alone at such a time. She formed a dozen plans, but rejected them all, and tried to invent others. She felt that she could not speak to her uncle and aunt; she dared not accuse her sister, for she was not sure, and hour after hour she was praying that she might have been deceived; but all the same she felt bound to act, and finally she determined that she would never leave Rue alone when Frank Mallow was in the house. Sage's plan was good, but she could not keep to it; and one day, as she was about to enter the dining-room, where she had left her sister alone for a few moments, she heard her say, in a piteous voice-- "Oh, Frank, spare me! I cannot--I dare not?" "It is too late now," he said. "All is arranged. You must!" Sage did not enter the room, but stood there trembling as she heard her aunt go in by the farther door, and begin chattering to them both; but, with her blood seeming to run cold, she hurried up to her own room, and threw herself on her knees to pray for strength and wisdom at this crisis. If she told her uncle or her aunt, the consequences seemed to be terrible. If she spoke to Rue, she foresaw that her sister would deny all. She now determined what to do. She would attack Frank himself, and insist upon his leaving the house at once, never to return; but on going down to put her plan into effect, she found that he was gone, and he did not return. To her surprise, Rue seemed to have grown calmer now, and as the evening wore on she was almost cheerful, as if a load was off her mind. Her equanimity almost disarmed Sage, and about eight o'clock, as they were sitting with their aunt and uncle, listening to the roaring of the wind, the precursor of a snow-storm, Sage sat quite still as her sister rose and said that she wanted to go up and see if the children were asleep. Taking a candle, Rue lit it, and her face seemed very bright as she stood for a moment looking at the little party in the room. "Let me see," said the Churchwarden; "I forgot to tell you, my dear. I saw the parson this afternoon. He had had a letter from Cyril."