“Of course, my dear.” “But, Chris, I want you to understand it _all_. It’s such a difficult situation. For a man like him--brought up in the best schools in England----” “In England!” exclaimed Mr. Petersen. “Yes; Father liked the English schools best for boys. Alec’s lived in England for years,” she explained, a little impatient at the interruption. “He’s quite an Englishman. But, listen carefully, Chris, please. It’s going to be very hard to get him here.” “Why? Can’t----?” “You see, I didn’t tell him I was married. He wouldn’t have taken anything from me if he hadn’t believed it was all mine. I told him I had a position.... It will be a great shock to him, and he’s far from well. If you’ll only promise to do just exactly as I tell you, please, Chris!” He was rather amused at her solemnity. “Whatever you think is necessary,” he said, indulgently. “It is--very necessary. I’ve written a note, and I want you to take it to him in that same place in the wood this afternoon at five. And, Chris, _don’t_ talk to him, don’t tell him anything--any single thing--until he’s read it. Not _any_thing. It’s very important for him to learn it all from me--from the note. Promise!” “Very well, my dear.” “You see, I know just how to manage him, so that he won’t be too much shocked. And you’d better take your pocket flashlight, or you’ll be giving the letter to the wrong person.” II Privately Mr. Petersen considered it a preposterous errand. He set off at half-past four with the note and made his way through the windy twilight to the wood. At first he couldn’t find the fellow; at last he discovered him sitting on a fallen log a few feet from the path, sunk in apathy. “Is your name Defoe?” he asked. The man jumped up. “What is it?” he asked. “Have you a message from her?” Mr. Petersen handed him the note and the flashlight by which to read it, and with no little curiosity, tried to study his appearance in the little spot of light. But couldn’t; could see no more than a thin, long hand clutching the letter. It seemed a long one. Presently the flashlight was extinguished and the little wood was very dark, and still. Mr. Petersen respected the feelings of the sensitive brother for a long time, but he couldn’t wait there all night. “Shall we be getting along?” he said, pleasantly. Out of the dark came that hoarse and pitiful voice. “Who are you?” it asked. “Petersen,” he answered. “The man--the man that Minnie----?” “Her husband; yes. Are you ready?” The man came abreast of him, and began walking by his side with weary and heavy steps. “Is she so very ill?” he asked. “No-oo,” said Petersen. “Not very. Can’t look for perfect health, I suppose, in her condition.” “What condition?” “There’s a baby coming in a few weeks, you know.” He was surprised her brother hadn’t noticed; then reflected that he had only seen her in the dark.