“It was this way,” Rena began, checking her sobs so as to speak more distinctly. “I had never heard of Sandy McPherson, nor of you, until Colin sent me a copy of the will which astonished me and at first made me very angry with both Sandy and you, although I knew you were no more to blame than I was. I did not like the idea of being disposed of in that way and made over to some one I had never seen just for money. I had, however, a curiosity to see you, and when I heard you were here and saw Mrs. Parks’ advertisement for boarders, I planned to come to Oakfield and bring Irene, and let you and the rest find out which was which. If you or anybody had asked I meant to tell, but you didn’t. No one did, and I went on and on, acting a lie. Tom called it that and tried to stop me, but I would not be stopped, and I am so sorry. Oh, Mr. Travers, you don’t know how sorry.” Here she broke down entirely and cried like a child. Then dashing away her tears she went on with her story very rapidly, if not very connectedly, taking all the blame herself and exonerating Irene and Tom, the latter of whom had tried to dissuade her from it. As Rex listened there were great drops of sweat on his forehead and about his lips and on his hands, which lay helpless on the bed. For an instant a feeling of resentment had swept over him that he should have been made the subject of a joke like this and that Tom should have aided and abetted it, or at least kept quiet. But the rain of tears from Rena’s eyes swept the hard feeling away, and he only asked: “How could you do it?” “I don’t know, except I thought it might be fun to see you and others mistaking Irene for me,” Rena said, and for a moment the hot blood flamed over Rex’s face and then left it deadly pale, with the sweat gathering faster and faster on his forehead and lips and he no power to wipe it away. “Did you find it fun?” he whispered, and Rena answered: “No, oh, no, and every hour after I saw you I wanted to confess it, but couldn’t, and then you seemed to admire Irene and I hoped you would like her so well that you would not care when you knew the truth.” Something like a spasm of pain contracted Rex’s features, and he closed his eyes wearily, while the sweat was now like drops of water rolling down his face. Once he tried to lift his hand but could not, and he said feebly: “Wipe it away, I can’t.” She knew what he meant and very deftly and gently wiped his face and hands with her handkerchief, while her tears kept dropping fast. “Don’t cry,” he said. “It will not make it any better. I am glad you have told me. I wish I had known it at first, and I don’t quite see what pleasure there was in making fun of me, and Tom in it, too.” “There was none!” Rena cried, “and it was not to make fun of you. It was wrong and wicked. But Tom was not to blame. He wanted to tell you and I would not let him. I made him promise not to. I am the guilty one. Can you forgive me?”