It was her one love-letter from Jacques Benoix. She wore it out with reading. Some days later the bomb fell. Her husband said casually, at the supper-table, "I bought the Benoix place to-day, Kate." "Bought--the Benoix place?" "Yes; not that I could afford it! God knows I'm land-poor enough as it is. But they needed the money, and I knew you would like me to help them, my dear. They're such friends of yours." Kate moistened her lips. "Of yours, too, Basil. But--why do they need money?" He looked at her. "Oh, haven't you heard?" He spoke slowly, as if the words were pleasant to him. "Has Jacques not told you that they are going away to live, to the mountains? Mrs. Benoix' health; lungs, you know." The room was whirling; around her. Clutching the tablecloth to steady herself, she was aware of Mahaly behind her master's chair, looking at her sharply, warningly. "Isn't it rather foolish of Jacques?" she heard herself asking, evenly, "to give up his practice a second time?" Kildare laughed. "Not much practice to give up, my dear! Old Jones is good enough for us--he's not a d----d Frenchman, at least," he said with sudden savagery. "In fact," he added, smoothly again, "it was I who advised Jacques to try the mountains. He has worn out his welcome here." At last Kate understood. Her husband had seen. He meant to guard what he did not value. He had forced Benoix to sell his home, and to give up his means of livelihood. He was driving him out of the neighborhood because he was her lover. She rose, and walked steadily from the room. The girl Mahaly followed. "Tek keer, tek keer!" she muttered, in a low voice. "He's watchin' you, Miss Kate!" "He is always watching me," said Kate, dully. "Yas 'm. I done tried to warn you. Hit were de letter. Ef you jes' hadn't 'a' sent de letter!" "My husband saw that?" "Yas 'm. I don gib it to him." Kate recoiled, staring at her. "You! You gave it?" she whispered. "You whom I have trusted! My own servant!" The mulatto woman's expression was a queer mixture of malice, and triumph, and pity. "I was his servant first," said Mahaly. * * * * * Several months later, news came of the death of Mrs. Benoix in the mountains. But it found Kate oddly indifferent. She was lingering, then, upon a certain dark threshold which she would have crossed very gladly but for voices that held her back; the prattle of a child, the thin, helpless whimper of a baby. She had just given birth to her third daughter. Basil Kildare did not trouble himself to inspect his new property. Servants brought him word of its sex and its soundness. "Good gad, another female?" he cried; and went off down the hill at a gallop. Kate heard him go, and retreated a step from the dark threshold. There was peace in the room.