“She came in, and sat for half an hour.”

“And made herself very agreeable,—­was patronizing, and all that?”

“No—­nothing of the kind suggested by your words.”  And Constance looked at me reproachfully.  “She was, on the contrary, quiet, subdued, and womanly.  I called to see her, with the manner of one who had about her no consciousness of inferiority; and she returned the call, without a sign that I could regard as offensive.”

“It is well,” I answered, coming back into my better state.  “If true friends can take the place of false friends, who left her the moment a shadow fell upon her good name, then the occasion of blame may pave the way to life instead of ruin.  There must be remains of early and better states covered up and hidden away in her soul, but not lost; and by means of these she may be saved—­yet, I fear, that only through deep suffering will the overlying accretions of folly be broken away.”

“She is in the hands of one to whom all spirits are precious,” said Constance, meekly; “and if we can aid in His good work of restoration and salvation, our reward shall be great.”

After the lapse of a week, Constance called again upon Mrs. Dewey.  She found her in a very unhappy state of mind, and failed, almost entirely, in her efforts to throw a few sunbeams across the shadow by which she was environed.  Her reception was neither cold nor cordial.

“I think,” she said, “that my visit was untimely.  Some recent occurrence had, probably, disturbed her mind so deeply; that she was not able to rise above the depression that followed.  I noticed a bitterness of feeling about her that was not apparent on the occasion of my first call; and a hardness of manner and sentiment, that indicated a condition of mental suffering having its origin in a sense of wrong.  Mr. Dewey passed through the hall, and went out a few minutes after I entered the house, and before his wife joined me in the parlor.  It may have been fancy; but I thought, while I sat there awaiting her appearance, that I heard angry words in the room above.  The heavy tread of a man’s foot was there; but the sound ceased all at once—­so did the voices.  A little while afterwards Mr. Dewey came down stairs, and went out, as I have said.  Some minutes passed before I heard the rustle of Mrs. Dewey’s garments.  There was the air of one disturbed and ill at ease about her, when she entered; and though she made an effort to seem pleased, all was forced work.  Poor woman!  The path she selected to walk in through the world has proved rough and thorny, I fear, beyond any thing dreamed of in her young imagination.”

CHAPTER XXI.

Weeks passed after this second visit to the Allen House, but the call was not returned by Mrs. Dewey.  We talked the matter over, occasionally, and concluded that, for some reason best known to herself, the friendly overtures of Constance were not agreeable to the lady.  She was not often seen abroad, and when she did appear, the closed windows of her carriage usually hid her face from careful observation.