"I think there may be," said Peter, evasively. "But I can do nothing without your help, Mrs. Rutherford. That's my trouble. I must know the whole story, as I am sure that you, and you only, can tell it. All I am certain of, at the present time, is that Rosamond and Anne Curwood (whom I first heard of as Mary and Anne Blake) were the twin daughters of a man called Winthrop Curwood, who lived somewhere up in the mountains, between here and Hobart Falls." "Winthrop Curwood! You know, then, of Winthrop Curwood?" exclaimed Mrs. Rutherford, sitting up straight, and looking at Peter in surprise. "I know that he was the father, and that he was blind," said Peter. "Yes, blind," sighed Mrs. Rutherford. "Poor Win!" "You knew him, then?" said Peter, quick to note the familiar use of the name. "Oh, yes. I knew Win Curwood well. Very well, indeed," said Mrs. Rutherford, sadly. "You're too young to remember, but he was leading man at the Athenæum and I played opposite to him for two seasons." "Ah, I--see," said Peter. "An actor. That explains--but go on, Mrs. Rutherford. Tell me about him. How he came to be here, in this out-of-the-way part of the country--who he was--everything. He was an Englishman, wasn't he?" "Yes, and well known in England. Arthur Quinn saw him play in London and made him a big offer to come over here. He joined the company while it was still at its best, and he was a great addition. A wonderful actor, and handsome almost beyond belief. He was younger than I by a number of years but we soon became great friends. I was jealous of him, of course," with raised eyebrows and a whimsical smile, "but not so much as I might have been, perhaps. He was very generous and tactful, and after all, at that time, I didn't have much need to fear a rival in popularity." There was an expression in the great, dark eyes, half sad, half amused at the recollection. "He was with us only two seasons," she continued. "I remember it was in the middle of the second winter that I began to notice that he wasn't quite himself. He hadn't quite the same certainty of movement, and once, during performance, when he stumbled against a low table and overturned it, I felt sure that he had been drinking. I said nothing at the time, but afterward I spoke to him--and he told me. He was going blind! Think of it, Mr. Clancy. Going blind, with no hope!... I don't think he confided in any one but me until the very end. He managed to get through the season--it would have left Arthur Quinn and the company in an awful hole if he hadn't, and with my help--I played up to him and helped him as well as I was able--he saw it through.... And then, simply disappeared. He did tell Arthur Quinn (the manager, you know) why he would not be able to play again.... And that was the last any of us ever saw, and the last for a great many years that I ever heard, of Winthrop Curwood."