“Gone away?” echoed Marsten, visibly perturbed at this unexpected check in his advance. The servant saw she was face to face with another case of mental indecision; so she promptly grappled with the situation by calling Mrs. Sartwell, who was in the dining-room: then, turning the embarrassed young man over to her mistress, she closed the door and returned to the more important work which Mars-ten’s knock had interrupted. “You wished to see Miss Sartwell?” began the lady, icily. “Why?” It was not an easy question to answer, when suddenly asked by an utter stranger. “Well, I can scarcely tell you, Mrs. Sartwell,” stammered the young man, extremely ill at ease. “It is entirely a personal matter. I wished to have a few words with Miss Sartwell; that is all.” The lady sat bolt upright, with a look of great severity on her face. There was mystery here which she resolved to unravel before she allowed the unfortunate young man to depart. He speedily came to the conclusion that he had in the lady before him an implacable enemy, more to be feared, perhaps, than Sartwell himself. Each question shot at him led him deeper and deeper into the tangle. “You are her lover, I suppose?” “No. That is--I really can’t explain, Mrs. Sart-well.” “Very well; I shall ask my husband when he returns to-night. He knows nothing of this, of course?” “Yes, he does.” “He knows you are here?” “He doesn’t know I am here to-day. He knows I love his daughter.” “I thought you said you were not her lover. Young man, whatever else you do, speak the truth. All our earthly troubles come from shunning the truth, and from overweening pride. Avoid pride, and avoid falsehood. What did you mean when you told me just now that you were not Miss Sartwell’s lover? I beseech you to speak the truth.” “I’m trying to, but you see it is rather difficult to talk about this with a third person, and----” “I am not a third person. I am her step-mother, and responsible to a higher power for what I do regarding Edna. I must have full knowledge, and then trust to the guiding light from above. We are ever prone to err when we rely on our own puny efforts. Does Edna Sartwell know you love her?” “No.” “And her father does?” “Yes. I told him.” “Then I wonder he did not forbid you to see her.” “He did.” “Are you one of his workmen?” “Yes. At least I was.” “Are you not now?” “No.” “He has discharged you?” “I have been discharged.” The stern look faded from Mrs. Sartwell’s face. She drew a deep breath--a prolonged “Ah,” with what might be taken as a quiver of profound satisfaction in it--and, for the first time during the conference, leaned back comfortably in her chair. “My poor boy!” she said at last, gazing compassionately at him. “Do you mean to say, then, that you would risk your whole future for a girl to whom you have never spoken?” “Oh, I have spoken with her, Mrs. Sartwell. I said I had never spoken about--that she doesn’t know I care anything for her.”