Worn out with watching and waiting, Mrs. Cameron, who would suffer neither Juno nor Bell to come near the house, waited uneasily for the arrival of the New Haven train, which she hoped would bring Helen to her aid.  Under ordinary circumstances she would rather not have met her, for her presence would keep the letter so constantly in her mind, but now anybody who could be trusted was welcome, and when at last there came a cautious ring she went herself to the hall, starting back with undisguised vexation when she saw the timid-looking woman following close behind Helen, and whom the latter presented as “My mother, Mrs. Lennox.”

Convinced that Morris’ sudden journey to New York had something to do with Katy’s illness, and almost distracted with fears for her daughter’s life, Mrs. Lennox could not remain at home and wait for the tardy mail or careless telegraph.  She must go to her child, and casting off her dread of Wilford’s displeasure, she had come with Helen, and was bowing meekly to Mrs. Cameron, who neither offered her hand nor gave any token of greeting except a distant bow and a simple “Good-morning, madam.”

But Mrs. Lennox was too timid, too bewildered, and too anxious to notice the lady’s haughty manner as she led them to the library and then went for her son.  Wilford was not glad to see his mother-in-law, but he tried to be polite, answering her questions civilly, and when she asked if it was true that he had sent for Morris, assuring her that it was not—­“Dr. Grant happened here very providentially, and I hope to keep him until the crisis is past, although he has just told me he must go back to-morrow,” Wilford said, mentally hoping Mrs. Lennox might think it best to go with him, or if she did not, wondering how long she did intend to stay.  It hurt his pride that she, whom he considered greatly his inferior, should learn his secret; but it could not now be helped, and within an hour after her arrival she was looking curiously at him for an explanation of the strange things she heard from Katy’s lips.

“Was you a widower when you married my daughter?” she said to him, when at last Helen left the room, and she was alone with him.

“Yes, madam,” he replied, “some would call me so, though I was divorced from my wife.  As this was a matter which did not in any way concern your daughter, I deemed it best not to tell her.  Latterly she has found it out, and it is having a very extraordinary effect upon her.”

Mrs. Lennox was too much afraid of the man addressing her so haughtily to make him any reply, and so she only wept softly as she bent to kiss her child, still talking of Genevra and the empty grave at St. Mary’s, where she once sat down.

And this was all Mrs. Lennox knew until alone with Helen, who had heard from Morris all he knew of the sad story except the part relating to Marian Hazelton.  His sudden journey to New York was thus accounted for, and Helen explained it to her mother as well as she could, advising her to say nothing of it either to Wilford or Mrs. Cameron, as it was quite as well for them not to know it yet.  Many messages Helen brought to her cousin from his patients, and Morris felt it was his duty to go to them for a day or so at least.