"Everything looks very strange. Why, Alford, I had a long, sad talk with you but a short time since in the library, and you were so kind and unselfish!" "Yes, Grace; we spoke frankly to each other, but you have been very ill since then, worse than ever before. At your father's request and Dr. Markham's urgent counsel, I brought you to Europe. It was said to be your only chance." "But where is Mrs. Mayburn?" "She is at home taking care of your father. Her old sickness threatened to return. She could take care of you no longer, and you needed constant care." A slow, deep flush overspread her face and even her neck as she faltered: "And--and--has no one else been with me but Jinny?" "No one else except myself. Grace, dear Grace, I am your husband. I was married to you in the presence of your father, Mrs. Mayburn, and your family physician." "Now long since?" she asked, in a constrained voice. "About a year ago." "Have we been abroad ever since?" "Yes, and you have been steadily improving. You were intrusted to my care, and there came a time when I must either be faithful to that trust, or place you in the hands of strangers. You were helpless, dear Grace." "Evidently," in the same low, constrained tone. "Could--could you not have fulfilled your trust in some other way?" "Your father, your second mother, and your physician thought not." "Still--" she began, hesitated, and again came that deep, deep flush. "For your sake, Grace, I incurred the risk of this awful moment." She turned, and saw an expression which brought tears to her eyes. "I cannot misjudge you," she said slowly; "the past forbids that. But I cannot understand it, I cannot understand it at all." "Perhaps you never will, dear Grace; I took that risk also to save your life and mind." "My mind?"