“Then why didn’t you?” he asked, just to try her. “Even I should not have known that you were compromising with your conscience in so doing, if you had burned the paper you had picked up, and said nothing about it.” “That is true; but I could never have kept it to myself; and, what is more, I should have been utterly miserable, especially after baby’s birth.” “Why more especially after baby’s birth?” “Because, if it had all come out one of these days, he would not have had a very high opinion of his mother; and, of course, I want baby to respect me.” She said this with a little air of matronly dignity that was fine to see, and amused and touched him equally. “I’ll take care Master Baby is brought up to think there never was such a woman as his mother,” he said, smiling. “Boys always imitate their fathers.” “Do they? I’m so glad!” she answered naïvely. “But, Lawrence, tell me who was it sent you that telegram in Paris?” “The gentleman with whom poor Mary was living.” “And where is she now?” “Dead, poor heart!” he replied solemnly and feelingly. “She left Mr. Jepherson’s house the last time she came to Borton very insufficiently clad, and traveled one whole night. The consequence was that she caught a cold, which settled on her lungs, and only lingered three weeks. I loved her very dearly; but I cannot regret her, Gwen.” “I suppose it was just an instinct that made her always take refuge at Borton.” “She knew that I had been mixed up in some way in separating her from her scoundrel of a husband, and this gave her the notion that I was keeping them apart. I could not make her realize any part of the past that would hinder her from dwelling on this one idea. All her other delusions changed; but that was a steady, fixed conviction that all the reasoning in the world would not alter. Her last words were: ‘I am going to my husband, now, in spite of you all.’ And it was strange, Gwen; but Captain Lowe died the very day before she did, so that, perhaps, who can tell? they did meet again in another world.” Lady Gwendolyn’s face was very sad now as she leaned against her husband’s shoulder. “Poor Mary! what a miserable fate; and she looked so young still.” “Four-and-twenty. I will show you her grave when we go to Borton.” “Don’t tell me, if you would rather not, Lawrence, but I should like to know why you kept this such a profound secret?” “Because people believed her to be dead, and it seemed to me better so. Captain Lowe would have claimed her directly, if he fancied there was anything to be gained by it. As it was, he often tried to exact money from me.” “Yes; but you might have confided in me,” she said half reproachfully. “I was so afraid that my love for you would make me disloyal to poor Mary, and then, if a mere inkling of the truth had come out, Captain Lowe would have left me no peace of my life.” “But after we were married you knew I could be trusted, Lawrence.”