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But at whom do you suppose she looked? Not me! Miss Clinton! That was cold tub number two for that day, and I didn't react as quickly as I might, but when I did I was in the proper glow all over. When I revived and saw the lovely pale blush on her face I felt like a cabbage-rose beside a tea-bud. I was glad Aunt Adeline came in just then so I could go in and tell Julia to bring out the tea and cakes. When I came from the kitchen I stepped into my room and took out one of Alfred's letters from the desk drawer and opened it at random, and put my finger down on a line with my eyes shut. This was what it was— "Because it is necessary that I should do so, major. It is my intention to aid you in your search for the assassin of Maurice. Oh, yes, you may look doubtful as to my ability to help you, but I can and will. I am not the mad woman who burst into your library at three in the morning. I am cool and calm and bent upon revenge. Maurice is dead. I loved him. And I intend to devote myself to avenging his death. Come, major, sit upon this seat beside me, and relate all you have heard, all you have discovered. With my woman's wit I may be able to help you in the way the mouse aided the lion. Begin!" For a year after the funeral they forget about the poor bereaved, and when they do remember her they speak to and of her in the same tones of voice they used at the obsequies. Then sooner or later some neighbour is sure to see some man walk home from church with her, or hear some masculine voice in her front garden. Mr. Blake gave Mrs. Caruther's little Jessie a ride in his trap and helped her out at her mother's gate just before last Christmas, and if the poor widow hadn't acted quickly the town would have noticed them to death before he proposed to her. They were married the day after New Year's Day, and she lost lots of good friends because she didn't give them more time to talk about it. Patricia drew in her breath with a gasp. She put her hand on the knob of the door and noiselessly turned it..