“Come, Louise,” interposed her husband, “if you know anything that will help to condone the wrong you have done, do not withhold it. You must remember that you are amenable to the law for your sin, although Mr. Laurens will not prosecute you, perhaps, if you will help him find his wronged wife.” That hint was timely. It frightened the wicked woman, and opened her lips, despite the malice that would have sealed them to the truth. She grew pale and looked at Cecil Laurens, half pleadingly. “If I tell you all I know, will you spare me?” she asked. “Yes.” “Very well. Your wife is in England. She had relatives there, and when she left you she went to them. She is living with them still, and your son, born a few weeks after she left you, is a handsome little fellow of four years.” Cecil Laurens grew pale with emotion, and his mother whispered to Doctor Laurens: “So, I am a grandmother. I think I shall begin to wear caps.” Cecil spoke abruptly: “And these relatives of my wife--humble people, of course, but dear to me for the care they have given my darling--their names, Mrs. Keith?” She started and flushed. It was the first time since her secret marriage, six years ago, that any one had ever called her by her husband’s name. Conquering the strange emotion it awoke in her breast, she answered: “I do not know, but I will give you the London address of Florine Dabol, who used to be her maid. Florine was in my service, and helped to alienate your wife from you and drive her away. She knew where she went, but she kept it a secret in order to extort money from me. I hope you will punish _her_ for her wickedness, for she has been bleeding me all these years, until between the support of my child and paying her hush-money over and over, the allowance I had from my aunt was spent, until I could barely dress myself decently.” She drew a pencil from her pocket, and rapidly, though with a shaking hand, wrote on a slip of paper Florine Dabol’s address. “That is where I send her money,” she said, handing it to Cecil Laurens. He took it with a courteous bow and a word of thanks. “Now you have done all that you can to make amends, Louise, we will go. Of course Mr. Laurens will be anxious to see you gone,” said John Keith, sadly. “On the contrary, Mr. Keith, I beg that you, with your wife and child, will accept the hospitality of Maple Shade for tonight at least,” answered Cecil Laurens, gravely; for he said to himself that he had no quarrel with John Keith, who had himself endured such bitter suffering through a woman’s ambition. John Keith declined gratefully, but decisively, the offered hospitality. “We will go now,” he added. Old Mrs. Barry--perhaps taking a lesson in politeness from Cecil--said, carelessly: “You may go to Ferndale, Louise, and get your clothes and everything that belongs to you personally, for you will never see a penny of my money.”