The park’s undulations, agleam in the snow, the rush of the sleighs, the liveliness and cheer of the gay pageant, were a lure to the eye and a stimulus to the spirit. Their runners slipped over the close-packed snow as though the splendid mechanism of the horse might--so near they approached flight--at any moment bear them skyward. Once Walsh asked if she were tired, but she shook her head and they flew on again. The freedom from responsibility as they sped on was in itself grateful; she was even able to forget herself at times, to be quite detached from her own thoughts. When they reached the house, she asked him, quite perfunctorily, if he would not stop and warm himself. Much to her surprise he said he would. She summoned a servant but Walsh went himself to blanket and house the mare. When he returned she was waiting for him in the library. “I’m afraid to offer a man tea, but you can have anything you like, Mr. Walsh.” “Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Craighill,” he replied, rubbing his hands briskly at the fire. She rose to the need of making talk and complimented him upon the horse’s speed and endurance. “There’s good blood in her; and they say blood tells. She could keep up that lick all afternoon. She enjoyed it as much as we did.” The excellence of the mare having been agreed upon, she felt herself faltering upon the edge of another abyss of silence. But with only an instant’s hesitation, in which he bent the gaze of his odd little eyes upon her sharply, he said: “I have no wish, Mrs. Craighill, to meddle in your private affairs, but it is possible that I may be in a position to serve you.” She clasped her hands tightly on her knees; her heart beat fast. “I am sure you mean to be kind,” she said, unresponsively. His little eyes, as she met them timorously, regarded her with something akin to pity. The lines of his mask-like face seemed softened as by some stirring of grace within. At his next words the blood poured into her heart as though to burst it. “Please believe me, Mrs. Craighill, that I speak to you with the greatest respect, and with the best intentions. You are in distress. You have had a message to-day that annoyed you very much. It is not important just how I came to know it; the important thing is to save you from any trouble.” “I don’t understand--I don’t know what you mean,” she faltered. “Your mother is threatening you; she has had an unpleasant encounter with your husband, and proposes now to come here and make a scene. Please do not be troubled, madam. If it were not in my power to help you, you may be sure I should spare you the shock of hearing this from me.” “How do you know--what can you do?” came from her in whispers. Her face was white; her tightly clasped hands were eloquent of great inner stress.