“Just about this time you returned, William, and,” a burning blush now suffused the face of the proud woman, “I welcomed you with secret joy, and instantly made up my mind to marry you if you would have me. I made myself agreeable to you with that sole object in view. You know how well I succeeded, although you did not dream that I was scheming for that, and I did not experience a qualm, since I did not deceive you regarding the state of my heart toward you; my acceptance of you was as frank as your proposal for my hand. Neither of us professed any love for the other: we simply decided that it would be a wise union, and that we could be a very comfortable couple. A strange, heartless arrangement, I suppose the world would have said could it have read our motives, but it would have seemed even more strange if the experience of our lives had been revealed. I was hardened and reckless then, for I felt that fate had used me very badly. I have not deserved the quiet, peaceful years—quiet and peaceful but for the stings of conscience—that have been my lot since. I have been growing happier during all that time, growing to——” She broke off suddenly, flashing a quick, pained glance at her husband, while the blood again mounted to her brow. “During all these years,” she continued, presently, “I have never learned anything regarding my child, save once. Last summer, after Everet left me at Newport, to come home, I was comparatively alone there for a few days, my friends, whom I was expecting to meet, not having arrived, and a sudden impulse seized me to go to Boston and try to learn something about my daughter. I had always kept the card you gave me, Mr. Huntress, and I imagined if you were still in that city I could trace you through the directory. “Upon my arrival I stepped into a drug store on Washington street and asked for the directory, to begin my search. You can imagine something of my amazement and consternation when I found myself face to face with the physician who had attended me at the birth of my child. He also recognized me, although I tried to deceive him regarding my identity. But he insisted that he knew me, and finding denial useless, I appealed to him for information regarding my child. He said he knew the man well who had adopted her—that he had been for years the family physician; but he would not give me his name or address.” “That must have been Dr. Turner,” said Mr. Huntress, looking astonished; “but how could he have known that we adopted the child? We never told him that she was not our own.”