“I have been to this island more regularly to spend the summers for the last few years until this year, when business connected with my inheritance of the Wilderness Manor detained me elsewhere until the first of October.” “And to think, Miss Emolyn, that the very first thing you did after entering upon that inheritance was to think of us in our poverty, that poor, squalid Laundry Lane, and to bring us to this beautiful, wholesome country,” said Susan Palmer gratefully. “It is true that my very first thought _was_ of you,” admitted Emolyn. At that moment a distant clock chimed out musically the hour of noon. “Now, my little namesake, go find your father and bring him to the house to lunch with us,” said the lady. Em. immediately arose and left the room to do this errand. She went into the hall, where she found her hat and shawl hung on an artistic tree carved out of malachite. She put them on hastily, and ran out to seek her father, whom she expected to find near the boat-landing. Meantime the two women, left alone together, looked into each other’s faces as if each expected a confidence from the other. Susan was the first to speak. “Now, Miss Emolyn, that she is gone and we are by ourselves, tell me why you have never been able to get over your trouble during all these long years?” Emolyn shuddered and covered her eyes with her hands. “Oh, I have hurt you, Miss Emolyn. I am so sorry. I beg you to forgive me. I ought not to have asked you a question. But, dear Miss Emolyn, still you ought not to take that old sorrow so much to heart, innocent as I know you to be.” “Oh, Susan, Susan! No one could ever entirely recover from such a blasting affliction as mine was!” cried the unhappy lady. “Not even when you know you was innocent, Miss Emolyn?” “No—not even then! But, Susan, there is the horror of it. I do not know that I am innocent!” exclaimed Emolyn, with a low moan of anguish. “Oh, my dear young lady, what_ever_ do you mean?” “Oh, Susan, Susan! After all I may have—_hurt my child_!” “Oh, Miss Emolyn, you never, never did! I would stake _my soul_ that you never did. (This is an awful symptom of derangement.) You never did, Miss Emolyn. You have thought about it so much that you have got heartsick and brainsick, and ready to accuse yourself. Don’t think about it any more, Miss Emolyn. You were right to travel, after all. Oh, pray don’t let your thoughts dwell upon it any longer, Miss Emolyn. Put it out of your mind!”