“It’s a great secret,” she announced naively.  “That is, their personal history.  I have never told it to any one.  I have never told it to my husband.  They confided it to me in a sort of desperation, perhaps because my husband’s name inspired them with confidence.  Immediately after, I could see that they regretted the impulse, and so I have remained silent.  But I feel like telling you; feel as if it would divert me to do so—­keep me from thinking of other things.  You won’t want to talk about it and the story will cure your nervousness.”

“Do you want me to promise not to talk about it?” I inquired in some anxiety.

“No.  You have a good, true face; a face which immediately inspires confidence.  I shall exact no promises.  I can rely on your judgment.”

I thanked her.  I was glad not to be obliged to promise secrecy.  It might become my imperative duty to disregard such a promise.

“You have seen both of their faces?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Then you must have observed the difference between them.  There is the same difference in their minds, though both are clouded.  One is weak almost to the point of idiocy, though strong enough where her one settled idea is concerned.  The other was once a notable character, but her fine traits have almost vanished under the spell which has been laid upon them by the immense disappointment which has wrecked both their lives.  I heard it all from Miss Thankful the day after we entered this house.  Miss Thankful is the older and more intellectual one.  I had known very little about them before; no more, in fact, than I have already told you.  I was consequently much astonished when they called, for I had supposed them to be veritable recluses, but I was still more astonished when I noted their manner and the agitated and strangely penetrating looks they cast about them as I ushered them into the library, which was the only room I had had time to arrange.  A few minutes’ further observation of them showed me that neither of them was quite right.  Instead of entering into conversation with me they continued to cast restless glances at the walls, ceilings, and even at the floor of the room in which we sat, and when, in the hope of attracting their attention to myself, I addressed them on some topic which I thought would be interesting to them, they not only failed to listen, but turned upon each other with slowly wagging heads, which not only revealed their condition but awakened me to its probable cause.  They were between walls rendered dear by old associations.  Till their first agitation was over I could not hope for their attention.

“But their agitation gave no signs of diminishing and I soon saw that their visit was far from being a ceremonial one; that it was one of definite purpose.  Preparing myself for I knew not what, I regarded them with such open interest that before I knew it, and quite before I was ready for any such exhibition, they were both on their knees before me, holding up their meager arms with beseeching and babbling words which I did not understand till later.