On one of the first days of spring Gertie Heckett stood at the lodge-gates, looking along the road as though she expected some one.

Ruth had driven her husband out in the pony-carriage for the first time since his illness. Until to-day he had not gone beyond the park-gates.

While Gertie was looking for the carriage, a young woman, deeply veiled, came by, and, seeing Gertie, stopped.

‘Is Mrs. Heritage at home, do you know, miss?’ said the woman, in a nice soft voice that took Gertie’s fancy directly.

‘No, she’s not,’ answered Gertie. ‘Do you want to see her?’

‘Yes. I’ve come from London on purpose.’

Gertie thought at first it must be some one in distress who had been recommended to come to them, for the young woman, though neat, didn’t look very well off, so she asked if she could do anything for her.

‘Yes, miss, you ean; you can do me a great favour. I want to see Mrs. Heritage on most important business—important to her and to her husband. If you will let me go into the house and wait till she comes, I shall be glad.’

‘Will you step into the lodge?’ said Gertie, pointing to the open door.

The woman shrank back with a little start.

‘No, thank you,’ she said hesitatingly. ‘I’d—I’d rather not.’

Gertie thought it very funny that this strange woman should object to go into the lodge, and she was just going to ask her why she objected, when a loud bark was heard, and Lion came trotting along in front of the pony-carriage.

The squire sat by his wife’s side; but few who had known him in the old time would have recognized him now. He had aged terribly. His face was deeply lined, and his hair had gone almost white during his illness. His head was bent forward and his eyes were half closed as the chaise drove up to the lodge-gate. At the sound of Gertie’s voice he looked up, and saw the young woman talking to her.

In an instant the listless look upon his face vanished, his lips trembled, his face flushed angrily, and his dull eyes flashed.

‘Who’s this?’ he exclaimed angrily.

‘Some one who wishes to see Mrs. Heritage, ’answered Gertie, surprised at the squire’s manner.

‘Mrs. Heritage can’t see her, then,’ said the squire, taking the reins from Ruth and whipping the pony into a gallop.

Gertie stared after the carriage in astonishment, as it was whirled up to the house-door; but the young woman never moved.

‘I’m afraid the gentleman’s offended with you for talking to me,’ she said. ‘Will you kindly give this to Mrs. Heritage presently, without the gentleman seeing?’

Gertie, bewildered by the whole scene, took the note mechanically that the woman handed to her, and slipped it into her pocket. Then, fearing that the squire would be angry if she stayed talking, she called to Lion, who had remained with her, and was sniffing suspiciously at the intruder, and ran up the broad gravel path to the hall, while the woman, with a brief ‘Thank you,’ walked away in the direction of the village.

Inside the house poor Gertie soon found that things were ‘uncomfortable.’ The squire had suddenly gone off into one of his fits, and was storming and raging in his study. Gertie ran in to see what was the matter, and found Ruth vainly endeavouring to calm her husband and make him listen to reason.

The sight of Gertie aggravated him. She was a little spy—she was this, she was that. She was always talking to a parcel of tramps, and letting them learn everybody’s business. What did this strange woman want with Ruth? He wouldn’t have a stranger admitted to the place. How often was he to say so? They were all in league against him—that was what it was.

Poor Ruth sat and listened patiently. She was used to her husband’s paroxysms of temper and suspicion now. After the first great shock that had come upon her, she had set herself a task, and determined to bear all patiently. She had gathered from her husband’s ravings only that he accused himself of terrible crimes. At first she had believed that he was really guilty, but gradually she had persuaded herself that it was merely the remembrance of his earlier surroundings appearing to a disordered mind. The doctor bad told her that men in her husband’s peculiar mental condition often accused themselves of terrible things, and that she was to take no notice of his words. It was but a phase of his disease.

Some strong and sudden excitement had caused a temporary derangement, that was all. Rest and quiet were all he needed. The rest and quiet he had, and Ruth in time had the satisfaction of seeing him grow more reasonable, and at last, so far as his mental condition was concerned, all fear was removed.

But his bodily health became worse and worse, and his nerves were always in a highly wrought condition. He could not bear the least noise, and the most trifling circumstance would fling him into an ungovernable rage. He was suspicious of everybody and of everything—of the servants, of Gertie, and of his wife.

Ruth had long thought seriously of getting him away to try a complete change of scene, and on this very morning that they had gone for their first drive she had been urging him to try a three months’ tour on the Continent.

He had jumped at the idea, and the thought of the change had seemed to put new life into him. He had been almost cheerful and amiable all through the drive, and it was not till they neared home that he fell into a brown study, and the old dull, worried look came upon his face.

The sight of Gertie talking to a strange woman at the lodge-gates, and the woman’s request to speak with Ruth, had produced a remarkable change.

He became violent and abusive, and poor Ruth had to put up with another ‘scene.’ It was some time before she could quiet him. Gertie assured him again and again that the woman had said nothing more than that she wanted to see Mrs. Heritage; and Ruth explained that it was probably only some one sent from the village to appeal to her charity.

Ruth and Gertie left the squire alone directly his temper had cooled down, for they knew by experience that after these paroxysms he would sit for hours gazing into vacancy and uttering no sound.

When they were at a safe distance from the study, Gertie, trembling and looking as shamefaced as though she were committing some awful crime, drew the strange woman’s letter from her poeket and gave it to Ruth.

‘I was to give you this,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I hope it wasn’t wrong to take it.’

Ruth took the letter, looking almost as guilty as Gertie.

Were her husband’s suspicions justified after all? Was this some new trouble coming upon them?

She put the letter in her pocket and went upstairs to her own room.

She would not open it while Gertie was standing by.

Alone in her bedroom, she turned the letter about and hesitated Still.

‘Pshaw!’ she exclaimed, with a forced laugh. ‘What a goose I am I I dare say, after all, it’s somebody wants assistance.’

She opened the letter and read it. It was short, but there was enough in it to drive the blood from Ruth’s cheeks and make her tremble like an aspen-leaf.

‘Madam,

‘For your husband’s sake, and if you value his liberty, let me see you alone. If I cannot see you at the house when I call, meet me outside the lodge-gates at eight. It will be dark then. Do not delay, as I must return to London to-night. Show this to no one. All depends upon your secrecy.

‘A Friend.’

The letter fluttered down from Ruth’s trembling grasp on to the floor.

What did it mean?

Was it a trap? She had read of such things. No, the woman had asked at first openly to see her. She had come in the broad daylight and been refused.

For her husband’s sake!

What terrible secret was about to be revealed to her? She remembered now his wild words and the strange confessions he had poured out during his illness.

She would know the worst.

She made up her mind to go, and then the brave heart gave way. Surrounded on every side with mystery, her life, once so happy, had become almost a burden to her. She had hoped to be so happy with Edward, and everything had looked so bright once, and now—— Ruth Heritage buried her head in her hands and sobbed out an hysterical cry to heaven that God would guide her feet aright through the mazes of the rough, bleak road she and her husband were treading now.