Mary Alcestis did not dream, as she lay comfortably in her bed the next morning breathing the cooler air and watching the shadows on the wall, that there moved about her house a plotter against her peace far more dangerous than an enemy from without. She thought that her husband looked at her with unusual gravity and she was touched by his solicitude, not suspecting that he searched her face for signs of recovery in order that he might deal her a cruel blow.

At the end of the second day she rose and sat by her window looking out over the pleasant greensward and recalling the hours when she had sat there with tiny Richard beside her. She felt happier; it did not seem rational that Mrs. Bent would speak now after having been silent for so many years, especially if poor Basil were allowed to sink once more into oblivion. When his manuscripts were really destroyed, she believed that the course of life would be again smooth.

Dr. Lister, coming in, took her hand and found it cool; he looked into her eyes and saw that they were bright and clear, and thereupon began what he had to say.

"My dear, there is a matter which we shall have to discuss." He spoke cheerfully, having decided that a cheerful air would help Mary Alcestis.

"Yes," said she, thinking of Richard's music. She was prepared to grant Richard anything.

"It concerns Basil."

She gave a little cry.

"Oh, papa, can you not let Basil rest! If any one should pursue and hound me after I was dead as people pursue and hound Basil, I should not rest in my grave! Let us not talk about him! I was just thinking how Richard used to lie there in his crib and how sweet he was. He was always a lovely boy. I am sorry that I opposed him and I am willing to give up entirely. I told you that!"

"We cannot put Basil aside," said Dr. Lister.

"I suppose that something dreadful happened while I was sick. I ought not to have gone to bed. Perhaps she has been here or that young girl. Perhaps that young girl has known all along. Oh, I hope Richard has made her no promises. I hope—"

"You are working yourself into a dangerous condition of excitement. Will you hear what I have to say quietly, or shall I go away and finish another time?"

"You had better say it now."

"This has to do with Basil alone. When you lay on the bed in his room, I saw your eyes turn toward the bureau. I connected your uneasiness with something in the open drawer. When I came back from the kitchen with your broth, the drawer was closed, the key gone; then I was sure. I do not like mysteries, so I went upstairs and looked again."

"The drawer was locked!"

"Yes, my dear, but I found the key."

Mrs. Lister's cheeks paled, then crimsoned. She looked now at her husband, now out the window, saying nothing. She expected to feel a terrible indignation, but she waited in vain. Instead she felt a deep relief. If she had only obeyed her husband long ago and had destroyed all Basil's possessions, she would have been far happier. Now Dr. Lister might destroy them, all his clothes, his childish toys, his youthful writings, and she need think of them no more. At last her grief was stale, she wished to think no more of Basil.

"I found in the bureau a great many manuscripts of Basil's."

"Tear them up," said Mary Alcestis. "You know you advised me long ago to destroy everything. I had just begun when I fainted."

"I never advised you to tear up any writings."

"You said Basil's 'things.'"

"I meant Basil's clothing, you know that. Did you not suspect, after Mr. Utterly was here, that these papers might be valuable?"

Mary Alcestis made no answer.

"These writings of Basil's can never be destroyed. It would be like murder."

"But who will ever read them?" she wailed. "I cannot bear to. Basil had such strange ideas. And Richard will not care for them, poor Richard. He thinks Basil ruined his life. It is dreadful how things can go on and on!"

"Other persons will care for them."

"Other persons! What other persons?"

"All persons who care for good literature," answered Dr. Lister steadily.

Mrs. Lister turned head and shoulder so that she could look into his eyes.

"You would not think of having them published!"

"Without any question I should have them published!"

"He was only a boy." She began in a trembling voice her first skirmish. "They are surely not worth publication. We might prize them, but others wouldn't. Do you not see that, papa?"

"He was more than a boy and he was an extraordinarily fine writer of English. Why, mother, his very ghost would cry out upon us! Do you suppose he spent his days and nights, writing and polishing in order that his compositions might lie in an old bureau in an attic? We should be traitors to him!"

"I would rather be a traitor to him in that way than be responsible for publishing his—his sins!" cried Mrs. Lister wildly. "If his writings are really good, people would come flocking about us like wolves. That Mr. Utterly reminded me of a wolf. They would ferret things out, they would—"

"From whom would they ferret anything out?"

"They might make her believe it was her duty to tell. If Mr. Utterly talked to her he might persuade her. He would tell her it was an honor. Oh, I could not endure it!"

"Mother, that is sheer nonsense!"

Mrs. Lister turned a still more direct gaze into her husband's eyes.

"It is not your affair. You have nothing to do with it. You had no right to unlock Basil's bureau. You—" she bowed her head on the arm of her chair. "Oh, Thomas, forgive me! I don't know what I'm saying. I think of Richard. I don't care about Basil. I have cherished his memory and I have had only misery and shame. I think about Richard and his children and the good name of my dear father. Don't let us bring this matter to light! I beseech of you, dear Thomas!"

Dr. Lister took the hand which sought his. He almost yielded to this desperate pleading. Did anything in the world really matter as much as this? Would Basil's fame survive more than a few generations? Would a publisher even consider the bringing out of the work of a man so long gone? Was it not better that he should remain dead than that his sister's heart should ache?

Then Dr. Lister saw in Basil's handwriting certain clear sentences, certain lines of verse. His face crimsoned.

"I have shown Basil's compositions in confidence to Scott," said he, firmly.

Mary Alcestis began to cry.

"He thinks they are admirable, mother." Dr. Lister drew an unwilling head to his shoulder. "My dear, let me take this burden from you. I have taken other burdens, and I should have borne this long ago."

"He could see nothing derogatory to Basil in them?" sobbed Mary Alcestis.

"Nothing. He would be outraged by such a suggestion. He would arrange them, edit them, and write a life of Basil from the information you gave him and in a certain sense under your direction."

"In a certain sense?" repeated Mary Alcestis, warily.

"He would do no prying. He would use the material you gave him and ask no questions. He would consult no one but you and perhaps Thomasina whose recollection of Basil should have value."

"I told her," sobbed Mrs. Lister. "I think I had a sort of hysteria. I didn't know what I was saying."

"What did she say?"

"She said I was a fool."

Dr. Lister could not restrain a smile.

"That was a hard word from Thomasina. I should think it would have done you good."

"It didn't," said Mrs. Lister.

"If Scott could do this work, he would do it admirably and I believe it would be the greatest satisfaction of his life. I think he might even forget Mrs. Scott for a while."

"It has come upon me too suddenly. Richard should be consulted. It is Richard whom it most concerns."

"I shall write to Richard."

"I must see what you write!"

"Surely."

Dr. Lister helped Mary Alcestis to bed, then he stated his views to Richard and also her views and Dr. Scott's views. In the morning he read her the letter.

"I think you are a little hard on Basil," said she and wept.

In four days Dr. Lister had an answer. The envelope contained two sheets.

"Dear Mother," read one, "I am willing for you and father to do as you think best about Basil Everman's writings." On the other sheet Richard had written, "Dear Father, I do not give a hang for Basil Everman. Do as you please."

Dr. Lister jumped. Richard! Smiling broadly, he started upstairs to show both letters; then he returned from the hall and dropped Richard's note to him in fine pieces into the waste-paper basket.

"I must be losing my mind!" said he.