"Why do you say that?" and, settling her on the pillows, he affected to laugh at the fancy, but her changed aspect alarmed him. "Because of your face, because I did not see André after--" Her features seemed hidden beneath a veil of dumb suffering. Then her whole countenance shut on a thought; an immense concentration chained her. Directly she felt for his hand. "André is still here?" she asked. "Yes." "May I see him?" Simon's look wavered and his eyes sank under hers. His attempt to deceive was manifest, plain as the Writing on the Wall. "Oh not now," he said, striving for an air that should restore her confidence, "you can't see anyone now, you know." But her suspicions were past allaying, though she swerved swiftly to another question. "The fire," she demanded. "Do they know what caused the fire?" "Oh, some carelessness, doubtless. Mrs. St. Ives may have dropped a match." Once more Rachel half lifted herself. She shook her head, scanning him fixedly. "Annie was asleep--the cottage locked. Simon, is it known who set that fire?" He gasped, unable to believe the astonishing thing: she was actually taking the facts from his mind. He opened his lips, but she needed no answer. "Oh," she whispered, on a long breath, "I understand. And _now_--now where is he?" and her fingers closed on his convulsively. "_Now?_" Her voice rose. Helplessly Simon met her look and his jaw hung. "He is dead," she said, and relaxed her hold. Seeing that she had guessed all through the marvellous second-sight of love, Simon told her the story briefly, striving, however, to lessen its sadness by relating it in a voice soothing as the ripple of a stream. "And directions came to-day from the mother," he concluded, "so St. Ives can start with the--the boy, to-morrow morning early. There's a milk train passes through here at five; it will be flagged. In that way St. Ives will make good connections. As for Mrs. St. Ives--" Simon might have been telling her any news, save that he hastened his speech a little as he struck into this new subject--"she goes along too. She will stop in the city, however, for the John Street place is all ready for occupancy and it seemed wisest-- My darling Rachel! my own reasonable brave girl!" he cried. "You know you always said the lad was not quite right mentally and he certainly had that air; the servants all remarked it." From her closed eyes, over her white cheeks, her tears rolled steadily. "Poor, poor André," she whispered. She knew--she guessed all. She remembered praising the organ attachment to André. And later he had witnessed that mad meeting between her and Emil in the garden. As she imagined the boy, lost, wandering, inflamed with jealousy; remorse intolerable and overwhelming filled her. She had driven him to the desperate act.