My mother smiled.

"Is it possible, George, that you think about this as the young
lady in Shetland thinks? After all the years that have passed,
you believe in the green flag being the means of bringing Mary
Dermody and yourself together again?"

"Certainly not! I am only humoring one of the fancies of poor
Miss Dunross. Could I refuse to grant her trifling request, after
all I owed to her kindness?"

The smile left my mother's face. She looked at me attentively.

"Miss Dunross seems to have produced a very favorable impression
on you," she said.

"I own it. I feel deeply interested in her."

"If she had not been an incurable invalid, George, I too might
have become interested in Miss Dunross--perhaps in the character
of my daughter-in-law?"

"It is useless, mother, to speculate on what _might_ have
happened. The sad reality is enough."

My mother paused a little before she put her next question to me.

"Did Miss Dunross always keep her veil drawn in your
presence, when there happened to be light in the room?"

"Always."

"She never even let you catch a momentary glance at her face?"

"Never."

"And the only reason she gave you was that the light caused her a
painful sensation if it fell on her uncovered skin?"

"You say that, mother, as if you doubt whether Miss Dunross told
me the truth."

"No, George. I only doubt whether she told you _all_ the truth."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't be offended, my dear. I believe Miss Dunross has some more
serious reason for keeping her face hidden than the reason that
she gave _you_."

I was silent. The suspicion which those words implied had never
occurred to my mind. I had read in medical books of cases of
morbid nervous sensitiveness exactly similar to the case of Miss
Dunross, as described by herself--and that had been enough for
me. Now that my mother's idea had found its way from her mind to
mine, the impression produced on me was painful in the last
degree. Horrible imaginings of deformity possessed my brain, and
profaned all that was purest and dearest in my recollections of
Miss Dunross. It was useless to change the subject--the evil
influence that was on me was too potent to be charmed away by
talk. Making the best excuse that I could think of for leaving my
mother's room, I hurried away to seek a refuge from myself, where
alone I could hope to find it, in the presence of Mrs. Van
Brandt.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CONVERSATION WITH MRS. VAN BRANDT.

THE landlady was taking the air at her own door when I reached
the house. Her reply to my inquiries justified my most hopeful
anticipations. The poor lodger looked already "like another
woman"; and the child was at that moment posted on the stairs,
watching for the return of her "new papa."

"There's one thing I should wish to say to you, sir, before you
go upstairs," the woman went on. "Don't trust the lady with more
money at a time than the money that is wanted for the day's
housekeeping. If she has any to spare, it's as likely as not to
be wasted on her good-for-nothing husband."

Absorbed in the higher and dearer interests that filled my mind,
I had thus far forgotten the very existence of Mr. Van Brandt.

"Where is he?" I asked.

"Where he ought to be," was the answer. "In prison for debt."

In those days a man imprisoned for debt was not infrequently a
man imprisoned for life. There was little fear of my visit being
shortened by the appearance on the scene of Mr. Van Brandt.

Ascending the stairs, I found the child waiting for me on the
upper landing, with a ragged doll in her arms. I had bought a
cake for her on my way to the house. She forthwith turned over
the doll to my care, and, trotting before me into the room with
her cake in her arms, announced my arrival in these words:

"Mamma, I like this papa better than the other. You like him


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