“No, I'm not ready to do that yet, but it will have a powerful effect on her. The only thing that bothered me was the sin of it, but since you think I'd have the right I'll throw my whole soul into it. She's so pure-minded that she won't suspect me.” “God grant that you succeed,” Hillhouse said, fervently, and he stood as if rooted to the spot, and watched her till she had disappeared down the road leading to her home. XXXIV DURING supper that evening Mrs. Porter eyed her daughter furtively. Cynthia ate very little and seemed abstracted, paying no heed to her father's rambling, inconsequential remarks to her grandmother, who, in her white lace cap, sat across the table from him. Supper over, the family went out, leaving Cynthia to put the dishes away. Mrs. Radcliffe shambled quietly to her own room, and Porter took his pipe to his favorite chair on the porch. Being thus at liberty to carry out her own plans, Mrs. Porter stole unnoticed into Cynthia's room, and in the half-darkness looked about her. The room was in thorough order. The white bedspread was as smooth as a drift of snow, and the pillows had not a wrinkle or a crease. The old woman noiselessly opened the top drawer of the bureau; here everything was in its place. She looked in the next and the next with the same result. Then she stood erect in the centre of the room, an expression of perplexity on her face. Suddenly she seemed to have an inspiration, and she went to the girl's closet and opened the door. And there, under a soiled dress belonging to Cynthia, she found a travelling-bag closely packed. With a soundless groan, Mrs. Porter dropped the dress, closed the closet-door, and moved back to the centre of the room. “My God! my God!” she cried. “I can't stand it! She's fully made up her mind.” Mrs. Porter left the room, and, passing her husband, whose placid face appeared intermittently in a red disk of light on the end of the porch, she went down the steps into the yard and thence around the house towards the orchard and grape-arbor. She paused among the trees, looking thoughtfully at the ground. “If I'm going to do it,” she reflected, “I'd better throw out some hint in advance, to sort of lead up to it. I wonder if my mind is actually giving way? I am sure I've been through enough to--but somebody is coming.” It was Cynthia, and she came daintily over the dewy grass. “Mother, is that you?” she called out. Mrs. Porter made no reply. “Mother, is that--but why didn't you answer me?” Cynthia came up, a searching look of inquiry in her eyes. Still Mrs. Porter showed not the slightest indication of being aware of her presence. Cynthia, in increasing surprise, laid her hand on her mother's arm, but Mrs. Porter shook it off impatiently. “Look here, Nathan, if you don't quit following me up, dogging my steps, and bothering me with your--” Mrs. Porter broke off, looking blankly into Cynthia's face. “Why, mother, what is the matter?” the girl exclaimed.