The deep tones ceased, and Peter saw that there was a mist in the fine old eyes. After a moment he said, gently: "And then, after many years, you met Anne Curwood." She roused herself at that and looked at Peter. "Yes," she said, slowly. "I don't know how you found that out--but it doesn't matter. Yes, I saw Anne Curwood, and curiously enough, too, it was at Helena Atterbury's house that I saw her first." Peter started in surprise. "At Mrs. Atterbury's house!" he exclaimed. "Why, then, Morris must have seen her--must have seen Anne Blake!" Mrs. Rutherford shook her head. "I don't know whether he ever saw her, or if he did, whether he noticed her or would have given her a thought if he had. She was doing menial work--Win Curwood's daughter: I can hardly bear to think of it.... And, too, she was painfully shy and self-conscious." "On account of that birthmark," Peter interjected. Mrs. Rutherford gave him a quick look, but went on at once, as if he had not spoken--"You see, she appeared to be only a servant, after all. She came in to do cleaning by the day. There was a great scarcity of help here that year and we all had to manage as well as we could. That was how I came to speak with her. I was telling Helena about a lot of trouble I was having with the servants, and she said she thought I might be able to get Anne Curwood for at least one day a week. At the moment I thought nothing of the name, but when I saw her and heard her speak--well, I became interested and engaged her at once for two days a week. After a time, when she became used to me and my ways, I asked her, point blank, about her father--and established, to my own satisfaction, that she was, really, the daughter of my old friend, Win Curwood." "Did she tell you, at that time, about her sister, Rosamond?" asked Peter. "No, it was later, much later, that I learned about the sister," she answered, quietly. "You found her after you'd taken Anne to New York as your companion?" Mrs. Rutherford slowly turned her head, and looked long into Peter's eyes. Then Peter did a curious thing. They were all alone, in the deep solitude of the leafy woods. There was no one, apparently, within miles of them, certainly no one within earshot, but Peter leaned forward, and with his keen eyes fixed on Kate Rutherford's face, he whispered, just above his breath, one sentence--only one--but the effect was electrical. She started forward and grasped his arm with clutching fingers. Her face was white. "How--how did you guess?" she asked, breathlessly. CHAPTER XXIII A MIDNIGHT ERRAND Donald Morris paced nervously back and forth, back and forth, upon the wide, ground-floor veranda of his sister's house. He could look out along the road up which Clancy had gone, hours before, with Mrs. Rutherford.