"She knew me, Donald. She recognized me--but she remembers nothing, nothing at all, that has happened since we were little children together. Perhaps--oh, perhaps, Donald, it is just as well. She has no painful memories, and her life must have been--hard, I'm afraid. Doctor Stevens says----" "We can hope. We can always hope," said the doctor, comfortingly; but by the look in his eyes, Donald Morris knew that there was little hope, in this world, for Rosamond Curwood. "We'll take care of her, Mary," Donald said, gently. "We'll take care of her together, dear." There was a moment's pause, and then Mrs. Rutherford spoke, for almost the first time. "Look here, Don," she said, in her deep, commanding voice. "I don't want you to blame Anne for having played a part to the world." "I don't, Aunt Kate," he said, looking not at her, but at Mary. "I understand----" "But that's just it," interrupted the old lady, quickly. "You understand a part. That's all. I know you've a lively imagination, and I will say, Don, that you're--that you're a pretty satisfactory person--take it all in all.... But I want you to understand that it was I who put Anne up to the whole thing, and I guess I'll need a few prayers if my poor old soul is ever to get out of Purgatory." "Don't talk that way, Aunt Kate," said Donald, smiling at her perturbed face. "All right, Don," she agreed, "but I want you to know, just the same, how the whole thing came about. This clever young countryman of mine," with an appreciative glance at Peter, "figured out the whole affair. His knowledge of it came to me like a bolt from the blue. I'd never seen him, you know, till you introduced him to me in Fennimore Park, and you can, perhaps, imagine my surprise when he told me who he was, and what he was doing. I was startled nearly out of my wits, and when, without more ado, he plunged into the very middle of the situation, and announced, in a whisper that would have done credit to Henry Irving: 'Mrs. Rutherford, there has never been, in that apartment in New York, but one person--and her name is Anne Curwood,' I was simply taken completely off my feet." She glanced about to note the effect of these lines, dramatically uttered, then she went on: "I told him, after that, what I'm going to tell you all now--you who know some of the facts.... It was all my fault.... I found Anne slaving her youth away in menial tasks--and I found out that she was the daughter of my old friend, Winthrop Curwood." "Winthrop Curwood of the old Athenæum Company?" asked Donald, with keen interest. "Why, I've heard my mother speak of him often. She knew his people in England."