‘I am not tired,’ Jerrie said, ’and I want to know what it is about Maude’s going to the cottage, which you must not tell me.  Is she there very, very often, and does Harold like to have her come, and is that throwing herself at his head, as you call it?’

She had her arm around his neck in a coaxing kind of way, and Arthur smoothed the soft white hand resting on his coat-collar, as he answered, laughingly: 

’Mother Eve herself.  You would have eaten the apple, too, had you been Mrs. Adam.  No, no, I shall not tell any secrets.  You must wait and see for yourself.  And now you must go, for I am tired myself.’

She said good-night, and went to her room, but not to sleep at once, because of the tumult of emotions which had been roused by what Arthur had told her of Maude and Harold.

’I don’t believe now that I really meant him to make love to her when I asked him to amuse her,’ she whispered to herself, as she dashed away two great tear-drops from her cheeks.

Then, after a moment, she continued: 

’But they shall never know.  No one shall ever know that I care, for I don’t, or I am not going to.  Harold is my brother, and I shall love Maude as my sister, and I will do all I can to make her more like what Harold’s wife should be.  She is beautiful, and good, and sweet, and true, and with money and position can do far more for him than I could—­I, the daughter of a peasant woman, the child of the carpet bag; and yet—­’

Here Jerrie’s hands beat the air excitedly as she recalled the wild fancy which had twice taken possession of her that night, and which had been born of that likeness seen in the mirror.  Many times since she had passed from childhood to womanhood had she speculated upon the mystery which enshrouded her, while one recollection after another of past events flitted through her brain, only to bewilder her awhile and then to disappear into oblivion.  But never before had she been affected as she was that night when the possibility of what might be nearly drove her wild.

‘Oh, if that were so,’ she said, ’I could help Harold, and I’d give everything to him and make him my king, as he is worthy to be.  There is something far back,’ she continued ’something different from the woman who died at my side.  That face which haunts me so often was a reality somewhere.  It has kissed me and called me darling, and I saw the life fade out of it—­saw it cold and dead.  I know I did, and sometime, when I have paid that debt to Mr. Frank Tracy, and have helped Harold, and made grandmother comfortable, I’ll go to Germany, to Wiesbaden and everywhere, and clear the mystery, if possible; and if mother was a peasant girl, with hands coarse and hard, and black from labor in the field, then, I, too, will be a peasant girl, and marry a peasant lad, and draw his potatoes home in a cart, while he trudges at my side.’

At this picture of herself Jerrie laughed out loud, and while trying to think how it would seem to draw potatoes in a cart, after having dug them, she fell asleep and dreamed of Maude and Harold, and studios and lilies, and a face which was a caricature, as Arthur had said, and which, when at a late hour she awoke, proved to be that of the chambermaid, whom Arthur had sent to rouse her, as he was waiting for his breakfast.