I couldn't help seeing myself as she saw me, and when we had finished what was not a repast I put her to bed with more than the humility of a serving-maid. You will think me absurd, but when those tender eyes were turned on me with their silent rebuke, I would gladly have put her back on the train again and hurried her on to destruction. As the dear thing sobbed on her pillow I laid my head beside hers and sobbed with her. But I couldn't sob very long, as I still had duties to fulfil. It was of little use to have her under my care at Providence unless those who would in the end be most concerned as to her whereabouts were to know the facts--or the approximate facts--from the start. It was a case in which doubt for a night might be doubt for a lifetime; and so when she was sufficiently calm for me to leave her I went down-stairs. Though I had not referred to it again, I had made a mental note of the fact that Mr. Brokenshire was at Newport. If at Newport I knew he could be nowhere but in one hotel. Within fifteen minutes I was talking to him on the telephone. He was plainly annoyed at being called to the instrument so late as half past ten. When I said I was Alexandra Adare he replied that he didn't recognize the name. "I was formerly nursery governess to your daughter, Mrs. Rossiter," I explained. "I'm the woman who's refused as yet to marry your son, Hugh." "Oh, that person," came the response, uttered wearily. "Yes, sir; that person. I must apologize for ringing you up so late; but I wanted to tell you that Mrs. Brokenshire is here at Providence with me." The symptoms of distress came to me in a series of choking sounds over the wire. It was a good half-minute before I got the words: "What does that mean?" "It means that Mrs. Brokenshire is perfectly well in physical condition, but she's tired and nervous and overwrought." I made out that the muffled and strangled voice said: "I'll motor up to Providence at once. It's now half past ten. I shall be there between one and two. What hotel shall I find you at?" "Don't come, sir," I pleaded. "I had to tell you we were in Providence, because you could have found that out by asking where the long-distance call had come from; but it's most important to Mrs. Brokenshire that she should have a few days alone." "I shall judge of that. To what hotel shall I come?" "I beg and implore you, sir, not to come. Please believe me when I say that it will be better for you in the end. Try to trust me. Mrs. Brokenshire isn't far from a nervous breakdown; but if I can have her to myself for a week or two I believe I could tide her over it." Reproof and argument followed on this, till at last he yielded, with the words: "Where are you going?" Fortunately, I had thought of that. "To some quiet place in Massachusetts. When we're settled I shall let you know." He suggested a hotel at Lenox as suitable for such a sojourn.