But the wailings of her mother, over departed luxuries, and the poverty of her surroundings were the lightest of Anna’s griefs.  At their last meeting—­she had gone to him in response to his request—­Sanderson’s manner had struck dumb terror into the heart of the girl who had sacrificed so much at his bidding.  She had been very pale.  The strain of facing the terrible position in which she found herself, coupled with her own failing health, had robbed her of the beautiful color he had always so frankly admired.  Her eyes were big and hollow looking, and the deep black circles about them only added to her unearthly appearance.  There were drawn lines of pain about the mouth, that robbed the Cupid’s bow of half its beauty.

“My God, Anna!” he had said to her impatiently.  “A man might as well try to love a corpse as a woman who looks like that.”  He led her over to a mirror, that she might see her wasted charms.  There was no need for her to look.  She knew well enough, what was reflected there.

“You have no right to let yourself get like this.  The only thing a woman has is her looks, and it is a crime if she throws them away worrying and fretting.”

“But Lennox,” she answered, desperately, “I have told you how matters stand with me, and mother knows nothing—­suspects nothing.”  And the girl broke down and wept as if her heart would break.

“Anna, for Heaven’s sake, do stop crying.  I hate a scene worse than anything in the world.  When a woman cries, it means but one thing, and that is that the man must give in—­and in this particular instance I can’t give in.  It would ruin me with the governor to acknowledge our marriage.”

The girl’s tears froze at his brutal words.  She looked about dazed and hopeless.

Sanderson was standing by the window, drumming a tattoo on the pane.  He wheeled about, and said slowly, as if he were feeling his way: 

“Anna, suppose I give you a sum of money and you go away till all this business is over.  You can tell your mother or not; just as you see fit.  As far as I am concerned, it would be impossible for me to acknowledge our marriage as I have said before.  If the governor found it out, he would cut me off without a cent.”

“But, Lennox, I cannot leave my mother.  Her health grows worse daily, and it would kill her.”

“Then take her with you.  She’s got to know, sooner or later, I suppose.  Now, don’t be a stupid little girl, and everything will turn out well for us.”  He patted her cheek, but it was done perfunctorily, and Anna knew there was no use in making a further appeal to him.

“Well, my dear,” he said, “I have got to take that 4.30 train back to Cambridge.  Here is something for you, and let me know just as soon as you make up your mind, when you intend to go and where.  There is no use in your staying in Waltham till those old cats begin to talk.”

He put a roll of bills in her hand, kissed her and was gone, and Anna turned her tottering steps homeward, sick at heart.  She must tell her mother, and the shock of it might kill her.  She pressed her hands over her burning eyes to blot out the hideous picture.  Could cruel fate offer bitterer dregs to young lips?