“You have been informed of us, it seems,” said Gilead. “You will have learnt, in that case, of the inviolately confidential nature of our mission, and of the necessity it is under of demanding truth for its first desideratum. You will answer my questions or not as you please; but you must not be offended when I tell you that it is impossible for us to move in any matter unless in the clear light of understanding. Am I to ask, then?” “O, if you will!” she murmured. “Very well,” said Gilead--“your name?” “It is--Nightingale; Mrs Nightingale.” He bowed his head gravely. “I have your advertisement in mind. I recall also your allusion to someone’s misdeeds. Was your choice of the male pronoun accidental or intentional?” “It was intentional.” “Am I to know to whom it referred?” “It referred to my husband.” He was very concerned for her. She appeared to feel acutely the shame of her admission. “I am sorry,” he said, “sincerely sorry to have to cause you this pain. But the surgical knife, relentless as it seems, is often the shortest cut to convalescence.” To his distress she uttered a little wincing cry, as if the very edge of his metaphor had touched her. “O! it was that,” she said--“the knife, the necessity, that was the cause of all.” He looked at her, pitifully, remorsefully. “I perceive,” he said, “that I have blundered somehow. Will you not say something that will put me right with myself?” “How could you know!” she answered, pressing an agitated hand to her bosom. “Our Gracie--our one darling! It was to save her, sir--they had to operate at once; and afterwards--the nursing, the change of air--” She broke off with a little gasp. “I understand,” said Gilead. “She was your only child, and her dear life was at stake. You incurred expenses--am I right?” She controlled herself with an effort, sitting erect, clasping and wreathing her hands before her. “Overwhelming to people in our position,” she answered. “But _he_ said yes--it was to be--he would find the means, though to secure them he must sell his soul to destruction. O! I little guessed what fatal significance lay behind his words. I trusted him; I was in despair; not until three days ago had I ever dared to question--to face, the possible truth. And then he himself struck me dumb with it. To save the little life so dear to us, he had robbed his employer.” She rose to her feet, seemed to shiver, and dropped back again. Gilead, in the deepest commiseration, had also risen. “Command yourself,” he said. “Tell me all. You will not find me an unsympathetic confidant.” She appeared to cast a look at him of the most pathetic gratitude.