“Why do you look at me like that. You make me afraid of you. I thought you were my friend.” “How can I be your friend, to act a real friend’s part, if you will not trust me?” “Trust you? Don’t I trust you? I thought I did.” She spoke like a child, and she was a lovely woman. I knew not what to make of her, what to answer. I had a hundred things to say, which, sooner or later, would have to be said. How was I to express them in words which would reach her understanding? Was she, naturally, mentally deficient? I could not believe it. Hers was not the face of an imbecile. Intellect, intelligence was writ large in every line. What then was the meaning of the cloud which had temporarily paralysed the active forces of her brain? Where was the key to the puzzle? As I hesitated she, coming closer, drawing up the sleeve of her dress, showed me her wrist, on which were the marks of my fingers. “See how you have hurt me.” I was shocked; I had not supposed that I had used such force. “I did not mean to do it--I beg your pardon. But this morning I’m afraid I am impatient; things have tried me.” “What things? Am I one of them? I am so sorry--please forgive me! I want you to be my friend, and more than my friend. You see how I am all alone.” “I see; I do see that.” The appeal which was in her eyes as they looked into mine stirred my pulses strangely. I know not what wild words were trembling on my lips; before they had a chance of getting spoken Mrs. Peddar put her head through the door and called to me-- “Mr. Ferguson, can I speak to you for a minute, please?” I went to her at once. I perceived that the news had reached her. Her first words showed it. “You have heard, sir, of the dreadful thing which has happened to Mr. Lawrence?” “I have.” “From what I’m told”--we were in a small room which served her as a sort of ante-chamber; she looked about her furtively, as if she feared that walls had ears; the hand which she had laid upon my arm was trembling--“from what I’m told it seems that it must have been done just before the young lady--came--to your room.” “Such seems to be the case, from what I’m told.” “What shall we do?” “At present, nothing. ‘Sufficient,’ Mrs. Peddar, ‘unto the day is the evil thereof.’” “Do you think she knows?” “Just now, I am sure that she does not.” She came closer, speaking almost in a whisper. Her lips were twitching. I have seldom seen a woman so disturbed. “Do you think--she did it?” “Mrs. Peddar! I have not yet found the key to the puzzle; but I am going to look for it, and I, or some one else, will find it soon. And of this I am certain now, that that child--she’s little more than a child in years, and, at present, she’s as helpless as any child could be--has had, of her own initiative, no hand or finger in this matter; she is as innocent, and as blameless, as you or I. She has suffered, but she has not sinned.” “I hope so, I am sure.”