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"I should have wrung the truth from the villain to-day," thought Jen, as he paced the room. "But to-morrow! To-morrow! He shan't leave this house until he confesses what he has done with the remains of my poor boy. Ghoul that he is, wretch and scoundrel.",

"True," said Jen; "and why should these wretches have murdered that man?",

So it was arranged that the four of them, Elinor, Patricia, Judith, and Bruce, should take the early train to Rockham and spend the day in adjusting matters at Greycroft for their return the following Saturday, coming back to town in the late afternoon or early evening.,

With regard to David Sarby, he had passed with the estate to Jen. The boy's father, a libertine, a drunkard and a confirmed gambler, had been forced, through his vices, to sell his ancestral home; and within a year of the sale he had dissipated the purchase money in debauchery. Afterward, like the sordid and pitiful coward he had always proved himself to be, he committed suicide, leaving his only son, whose mother had long since been worried into her grave, a pauper and an orphan.

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That night I did so many exercises that at last I sank exhausted in a chair in front of my mirror and put my head down on my arms and cried the real tears you cry when nobody is looking. I felt terribly old and ugly and dowdy and—widowed. It couldn't have been jealousy, for I just love that girl. I want most awfully to hug her very slimness, and it was more what she might think of poor dumpy me than what any man in Hillsboro, or Paris, could possibly feel on the subject, that hurt so hard. But then, looking back on it, I am afraid that jealousy sheds feathers every night so you won't know him in the morning, for something made me sit up suddenly with a spark in my eyes and reach out to the desk for my pencil and cheque-book. It took me more than an hour to reckon it all up, but I went to bed a happier, though in prospects a poorer woman.,

"Mother!" cried Isabella, with a pale face.,

"Here, Molly, here are the keys of my office, and the spark-plug to the car; you can cut off a lock of my hair, and if Jane has got a cake I'll eat it out of your hands. Shall it be Switzerland or Japan? And I prefer my bride served in light grey tweed." Tom really is delightful. Then we both laughed and began to plan what Tom called a conflagration. But I kept that delicious rose-embroidered treasure all to myself. I wanted him to meet it entirely unprepared.