It was his mother’s shawl, and Wilford was wondering if she was there, when down the stairs came a man’s rapid step, and the next moment Dr. Grant came into the room, starting when he saw Wilford, who felt intuitively that something was wrong. “Is Katy sick?” was his first question, which Morris answered in the affirmative, holding him back as he was starting for her room, and saying to him, “Let me send your mother to you first.” What passed between Wilford and his mother was never known exactly, but at the close of the interview Mrs. Cameron was very pale, while Wilford’s face looked dark and anxious as he said, “You think he understands it then?” “Yes, in part, but the world will be none the wiser for his knowledge. I knew Dr. Grant before you did, and there are few men living whom I respect as much, and no one whom I would trust as soon.” Mrs. Cameron had paid a high compliment to Morris Grant, and Wilford bowed in assent, asking next how she managed Dr. Craig. “That was easy, inasmuch as he believed it an insane freak of Katy’s to have no other physician than her cousin. It was quite natural, he said, adding that she was as safe with Dr. Grant as any one. And I was glad, for I could not have a stranger know of that affair. You will go up now,” Mrs. Cameron continued, and a moment after Wilford stood in the dimly-lighted room, where Katy was talking of Genevra and St. Mary’s, and was only kept upon her pillow by the strong arm of Morris, who stood over her when Wilford entered, trying in vain to quiet her. She knew him, and writhing herself away from Morris’s arms, she said to him, “Genevra is not in that grave at St. Mary’s; she is living, and you are not my husband. So you can leave the house at once. Morris will settle the estate, and no bill shall be sent in for your board and lodging.” In some moods Wilford would have smiled at being thus summarily dismissed from his own house; but he was too sore now, too sensitive to smile, and his voice was rather severe as he laid his hand on Katy’s and said, “Don’t be foolish, Katy. Don’t you know me? I am Wilford, your husband.” “That _was_, you mean,” Katy rejoined, drawing her hand quickly away. “Go find your first love, where bullets fall like hail, and where there is pain, and blood, and carnage. Genevra is there.” She would not let him come near her, and grew so excited with his presence that he was forced either to leave the room or sit where she could not see him. He chose the latter, and from his seat by the door watched with a half jealous, angry heart, Morris Grant doing for his wife what he should have done. With Morris Katy was gentle as a little child, talking still of Genevra, but talking quietly, and in a way which did not wear her out as fast as her excitement did.