“So, I’ll have to stay,” Irene wrote, “but my thoughts are constantly in Oakfield, where I suppose I am looked upon as an impostor. I hope you did your best for me with Mr. Travers and convinced him that I was not to blame. He has done almost everything a man like him can do, except propose in so many words, and I think he would have done that if I had not been called home. Give him my, not exactly love, but tell him how sorry I am for him and if I can be any comfort or help I’ll try to come. Life here is almost unendurable, with Johnnie gone and mother good for nothing, and all the work on my hands. On second thought I believe I will enclose a note for Mr. Travers which you can give or withhold as you see fit. I trust you as I have always done, and you have never failed me. Lovingly, Irene.” The note to Rex was as follows: “My dear Mr. Travers: “I am so sorry you are ill and wish I were there to do something for you. I hope you are not judging me too harshly for the deception of which Rena has told you and of which I was a very foolish tool. I am exceedingly sorry for my part in it, and I was always wanting to confess it, fearing lest any interest you seemed to have in me might arise from the fact that you believed me the heroine of Mr. McPherson’s will. Can you forgive me? It will be very hard to lose your friendship now when my heart aches so for little Johnnie. How I miss him; and how my thoughts go back to the pleasant days in Oakfield, the walks and talks, and all of which made life a holiday. Hoping you will soon be well and that you will not think less of Irene of Claremont than you did of the supposed Irene of New York, I am your very sad and sorry Irene.” This note Irene read two or three times before deciding to send it. There certainly was no harm in it, she thought, and possibly good might come of it. She could not lose the hold she had on Rex without a struggle and this would keep her in his mind. If she could only go back and be on the spot and see him occasionally during his illness she might accomplish her purpose yet, but this was impossible. The duties of home were imperative, even to her selfish nature. Her overworked mother gave up when Johnnie died, and Irene was compelled to take the helm, which she did unwillingly, rebelling against her fate and sending her thoughts constantly to Oakfield where Rex Travers lay burning with fever and talking constantly of the will, of the broken mirror, the half face and the eye, which troubled him more than all the rest. CHAPTER XX IN THE SICK-ROOM