story of her daughter's disappearance. If I could only hit upon some way to startle her out of her self-possession, I might yet learn——

She turned suddenly and met my eyes. She flushed painfully—perhaps she read my thought; and instantly I blamed myself for my clumsiness in permitting my suspicion to appear in my face. It was a mischance not easily retrieved.

"I have told you all I know," she said, rising quickly, and answering the question I had not uttered. "I feel the need of rest. If I can help you in any way, command me."

"Thank you," I answered, and opened the door for her.

She paused on the threshold—glanced around—her eyes rested on Burr Curtiss's dreary face. In an instant, she was beside him, bending over him with infinite tenderness.

"Dear boy," she said, so low I could scarcely hear her, and smoothed back his hair with a gesture almost motherly, "dear boy, don't worry so. I'm sure it will all come right."

He looked up and smiled at her tremulously. With a quick impulsiveness, she stooped and kissed him, then went rapidly from the room, leaving me, at least, more puzzled than before at this sudden glimpse of unsuspected depths of tenderness.

I closed the door after her and turned back to Curtiss.

"Has Mrs. Lawrence favoured your suit for her daughter's hand?" I asked.

"Favoured it?" he repeated. "Yes, from the very first."

"Then, in your opinion, she couldn't have had anything to do with this disappearance—advised it, perhaps assisted in it?"

"No," he said decidedly; "that's absurd."

"And yet——" I began.

"If you knew her," he interrupted, "you would see its absurdity. She has always been most kind to me. You saw——"

"Yes," I nodded.

"She has always been like that. She has treated me as a dearly beloved son ever since we told her of our engagement."

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