“Who is she?” asked Emerson, and then held his breath awaiting the answer.  The question was almost involuntary, yet prompted by a suddenly awakened desire to bear the world’s testimony regard to Irene.

“You don’t know her, then?” remarked the stranger.

“I asked who she was.”  Emerson intended to say this firmly, but his voice was unsteady.  “Let us sit down,” he added, looking around, and then leading the way to where some unoccupied chairs were standing.  By the time they were seated he had gained the mastery over himself.

“You don’t know her, then?” said the man, repeating his words.  “She is well known about these parts, I can assure you.  Why, that was old Mr. Delancy’s daughter.  Did you never hear of her?”

“What about her?” was asked.

“Well, in the first place, she was married some ten or twelve years ago to a lawyer down in New York; and, in the second place, they didn’t live very happily together—­why, I never heard.  I don’t believe it was her fault, for she’s the sweetest, kindest, gentlest lady it has ever been my good fortune to meet.  Some people around Ivy Cliff call her the ‘Angel,’ and the word has meaning in it as applied to her.  She left her husband, and he got a divorce, but didn’t charge anything wrong against her.  That, I suppose, was more than he dared to do, for a snow-flake is not purer.”

“You have lived in the neighborhood?” said Emerson, keeping his face a little averted.

“Oh yes, sir.  I have lived about here pretty much all my life.”

“Then you knew Miss Delancy before she was married?”

“No, sir; I can’t say that I knew much about her before that time.  I used to see her now and then as she rode about the neighborhood.  She was a gay, wild girl, sir.  But that unhappy marriage made a great change in her.  I cannot forget the first time I saw her after she came back to her father’s.  She seemed to me older by many years than when I last saw her, and looked like one just recovered from a long and serious illness.  The brightness had passed from her face, the fire from her eyes, the spring from her footsteps.  I believe she left her husband of her own accord, but I never knew that she made any complaint against him.  Of course, people were very curious to know why she had abandoned him.  But her lips must have been sealed, for only a little vague talk went floating around.  I never heard a breath of wrong charged against him as coming from her.”

Emerson’s face was turned still more away from his companion, his eyes bent down and his brows firmly knit.  He did not ask farther, but the man was on a theme that interested him, and so continued.