And with these words Mrs. Dunbar broke down. Once more her head sank, and burying her face in her hands, she wept and sobbed convulsively. Wiggins looked at her, and as he looked there came over his face an expression of unutterable pity and sympathy, but he said not a word. As he looked at her he leaned his head on his hand, and a low, deep, prolonged sigh escaped him, that seemed to come from the depths of his being. They sat in silence for a long time. Mrs. Dunbar was the first to break that silence. She roused herself by a great effort, and said, “Have you any idea what his object may be in coming here, or what Lionel's object may be in sending him?” “Well,” said Wiggins, “I don't know. I thought at first when I saw him that Lionel had some idea of looking after the estate, to see if he could get control of it in any way; but this call seems to show that Edith enters into their design in some way. Perhaps he thinks of paying attentions to her,” he added, in a tone of bitterness. “And would that be a thing to be dreaded?” asked Mrs. Dunbar, anxiously. “Most certainly,” said Wiggins. “Would you blame the son for the misdeeds of the father?” she asked, in the same tone. “No,” said Wiggins; “but when the son is so evidently a counterpart of the father, I should say that Edith ought to be preserved from him.” “I don't know,” said Mrs. Dunbar. “I'm afraid you judge too hastily. It may be for the best. Who knows?” “It can only be for the worst,” said Wiggins, with solemn emphasis. “There is a woman with him,” said Mrs. Dunbar, suddenly changing the conversation. “Who can she be?” “A woman? What kind of a woman?” “Elderly. I never saw her before. He calls himself Mowbray, and she is Mrs. Mowbray. What can be the meaning of that? The woman seems old enough to be his mother.” “Old?” said Wiggins. “Ah--Mowbray--h'm! It must be some design of his on Edith. He brings this woman, so as to make a formal call. He will not tell her who he is. I don't like the look of this, and, what is worse, I don't know what to do. I could prohibit his visits, but that would be to give up my plans, and I can not do that yet. I must run the risk. As for Edith, she is mad. She is beyond my control. She drives me to despair.” “I do not see what danger there is for Edith in his visits,” said Mrs. Dunbar, in a mournful voice. “Danger!” said Wiggins. “A man like that!” “You are judging him too hastily,” said Mrs. Dunbar. Wiggins looked at her in silence for a moment, and then said, “I hope I am, I'm sure, for your sake; but I'm afraid that I am right and that you are wrong.” After some further conversation Mrs. Dunbar retired, carrying with her in her face and in her heart that deep concern and that strong agitation which had been excited by the visit of Mowbray. Edith, when she next saw her, noticed this, and for a long time afterward wondered to herself why it was that such a change had come over the housekeeper.