“It was a favorite idea of Griswold’s that Nina might be benefited by a change of place, and when I first came here I knew that she, too, would follow me in due time.  She has hitherto been subject to violent attacks of frenzy, during which nothing within her reach was safe; and, knowing this, Griswold advised me to prepare a room, where, at such times, she could be kept by herself, for the sight of people always made her worse.  The Den, with the large closet adjoining, was the result of this suggestion, and as I have a great dread of neighborhood gossip, I resolved to say nothing of her until compelled to do so by her presence in the house.  I fancied that Mrs. Johnson was a discreet woman, and my purpose was to tell her of Nina as soon as I was fairly settled; but she abused her trust by letting Grace into the room.  You refused to enter, and my respect for you from that moment was unbounded.”

She looked at him in much surprise, and he added,

“You wonder, I suppose, how I know this.  I was here at the time, was in the next room when you came into the library to wait for Grace.  I watched you through the glass door, wondering who you were, until my cousin appeared and I overheard the whole.”

“And that is why you chose me instead of Grace to take charge of your keys,” interrupted Edith, beginning to comprehend what had heretofore been strange to her.  “But, Mr. St. Claire, I don’t understand it at all—­don’t see why there was any need for so much secrecy.  Supposing you did dread neighborhood gossip, you could not help being chosen Nina’s guardian.  She could not help being crazy.  Why not have told at once that there was such a person under your charge?  Wouldn’t it have been better?  It was no disgrace to you that you have kept the father’s trust, and cared for his poor child,” and she glanced lovingly at the pretty face nestled against her arm, for Nina had fallen asleep.

Arthur did not answer immediately, and when he did, his voice trembled with emotion.

“It would have been better,” he said; “but when she first became insane, I shrank from having it generally known, and the longer I hugged the secret the harder I found it to divulge the whole.  It would look queerly, I thought, for a young man like me to be tramelled with a crazy girl.  Nobody would believe she was my ward, and nothing more, and I became a sort of monomaniac upon the subject.  Had I never loved her—­” he paused, and leaned his head upon his hands, while Edith, bending upon him a most searching look, startled him with the words, “Mr. St. Claire, you have not told me all.  There is something behind, something mightier than pride or a dread of gossip.”

“Yes, Edith, there is something behind, but I can’t tell you what it is, you of all others.”