“The world is wide,” she urged, “and there are safe places enough in it. Besides, money can buy anything; and _he_ has forgiven you. _He_ will screen you.” “My mother!” he exclaimed. “Who will screen and save her? I will not destroy her, Annette. No, everybody in the world may perish first. I never will destroy my mother. I have done harm enough.” “He will die in prison,” she whispered. “He has sent to Germany for help, and it did him no good. He has demanded a new trial, and there was not enough to justify them in granting it. He is in a net from which there seems to be no escape. They say that he will die.” “You want to make me crazy!” her husband cried out, pushing her fiercely from him. “Go away! You are worse than the rest.” There was no way but to yield to him. “Well, well, Lawrence! I will try to think of some other means.” The season had reached early spring, and one tempestuous evening in March, as F. Chevreuse sat at home, making up some church accounts, feeling quite sure that he should not be interrupted, he heard the street‐door softly open and shut, then a tap at the door of the room. “Strange that Jane should leave that street‐door unlocked!” he thought, and at the same moment heard the servant coming up‐stairs from the kitchen. Her quick ear had caught the sound, and she, too, was wondering how she could have omitted to fasten the house up. The door of F. Chevreuse’s sitting‐room was quickly opened, and shut again in Jane’s face, and a woman stood inside. It was Annette Gerald, wrapped in a large waterproof cape, with the hood over her head. “Send Jane away!” she said hurriedly. “Don’t let her in here! Don’t let her see me!” Here Jane opened the door and put her head in, eyeing curiously the visitor, whose back was turned to her. “I’m sure I shut the door and bolted it, father,” she began, and took a step into the room. “I....” “No matter! I’ll see to it,” the priest said, waving her away. “Oh! well, only I’m sure I locked it. And perhaps you’d like to have this lamp....” “Jane!” he exclaimed, standing up, “when I dismiss you, you are to go.” Jane retired, grumbling. “She will listen at the door,” his visitor said. F. Chevreuse flung the door open, and discovered his domestic lingering about the head of the stairs, affecting to examine an imaginary hole in the carpet. “Once for all, Jane,” he said, “if you wish to remain in my house, you must not presume, nor show any curiosity about my affairs, nor the affairs of those who come to me. Go down into the kitchen, and shut the door, and stay there.” Jane, albeit not very subordinate, was completely awed by a display of authority such as she had never seen before. She did not venture to resist nor complain, but returned without delay to her own place. F. Chevreuse waited till he heard the kitchen‐door close with somewhat unnecessary force, then returned to his visitor. “What has brought you out to‐night?” he asked in a low voice.