again　would　impress　upon　him　the　fact　that　her　playful　and
  thoughtless　criticismwhich　was　personal　and　confidentialwas
  only　based　upon　the　circumstances　that　the　author　had　really　made　a
  more　beautiful　and　touching　story　than　the　poor　facts　which　she　had
  furnished　seemed　to　warrant。　　She　had　only　just　learned　the
  fortunate　circumstance　that　Mr。　Fletcher　was　in　the　neighborhood　of
  the　hotel　where　she　was　staying　with　her　brother。
  With　the　same　practical；　business…like　directness；　but　perhaps　a
  certain　unbusiness…like　haste　superadded；　she　rolled　up　the
  manuscript　and　dispatched　it　with　the　letter。
  This　done；　however；　a　slight　reaction　set　in；　and　having　taken　off
  her　hat　and　shawl；　she　dropped　listlessly　on　a　chair　by　the　window；
  but　as　suddenly　rose　and　took　a　seat　in　the　darker　part　of　the
  room。　　She　felt　that　she　had　done　right；　that　highest　but　most
  depressing　of　human　convictions！　　It　was　entirely　for　his　good。
  There　was　no　reason　why　his　best　interests　should　suffer　for　his
  folly。　　If　anybody　was　to　suffer　it　was　she。　　But　what　nonsense　was
  she　thinking！　　She　would　write　to　him　later　when　she　was　a　little
  cooler；as　she　had　said。　　But　then　he　had　distinctly　told　her；　and
  very　rudely　too；　that　he　didn't　want　her　to　write。　　Wanted　her　to
  make　SIGNALS　to　him；the　idiot！　and　probably　was　even　now　watching
  her　with　a　telescope。　　It　was　really　too　preposterous！
  The　result　was　that　her　brother　found　her　on　his　return　in　a
  somewhat　uncertain　mood；　and；　as　a　counselor；　variable　and
  conflicting　in　judgment。　　If　this　Clementina；　who　seemed　to　have　the
  family　qualities　of　obstinacy　and　audacity；　really　cared　for　him；
  she　certainly　wouldn't　let　delicacy　stand　in　the　way　of　letting　him
  know　itand　he　was　therefore　safe　to　wait　a　little。　　A　few　moments
  later；　she　languidly　declared　that　she　was　afraid　that　she　was　no
  counselor　in　such　matters；　really　she　was　getting　too　old　to　take
  any　interest　in　that　sort　of　thing；　and　she　never　had　been　a
  matchmaker！　　By　the　way　now；　wasn't　it　odd　that　this　neighbor；　that
  rich　capitalist　across　the　bay；　should　be　called　Fletcher；　and
  〃James　Fletcher〃　too；　for　Diego　meant　〃James〃　in　Spanish。　　Exactly
  the　same　name　as　poor　〃Cousin　Jim〃　who　disappeared。　　Did　he　remember
  her　old　playmate　Jim？　　But　her　brother　thought　something　else　was　a
  deuced　sight　more　odd；　namely；　that　this　same　Don　Diego　Fletcher　was
  said　to　be　very　sweet　on　Clementina　now；　and　was　always　in　her
  company　at　the　Ramirez。　　And　that；　with　this　〃Clarion〃　apology　on
  the　top　of　it；　looked　infernally　queer。
  Mrs。　Ashwood　felt　a　sudden　consternation。　　Here　had　sheJack's
  sisterjust　been　taking　Jack's　probable　rival　into　confidential
  correspondence！　　She　turned　upon　Jack　sharply：
  〃Why　didn't　you　say　that　before？〃
  〃I　did　tell　you；〃　he　said　gloomily；　〃but　you　didn't　listen。　　But
  what　difference　does　it　make　to　you　now？〃
  〃None　whatever；〃　said　Mrs。　Ashwood　calmly　as　she　walked　out　of　the
  room。
  Nevertheless　the　afternoon　passed　wearily；　and　her　usual　ride　into
  the　upland　canyon　did　not　reanimate　her。　　For　reasons　known　best　to
  herself　she　did　not　take　her　after…dinner　stroll　along　the　shore　to
  watch　the　outlying　fog。　　At　a　comparatively　early　hour；　while　there
  was　still　a　roseate　glow　in　the　western　sky；　she　appeared　with　grim
  deliberation；　and　the　blue　lamp…shade　in　her　hand；　and　placed　it
  over　the　lamp　which　she　lit　and　stood　on　her　table　beside　the
  window。　　This　done　she　sat　down　and　began　to　write　with　bright…eyed
  but　vicious　complacency。
  〃But　you　don't　want　that　light　AND　the　window；　Constance；〃　said
  Jack　wonderingly。
  Mrs。　Ashwood　could　not　stand　the　dreadful　twilight。
  〃But　take　away　your　lamp　and　you'll　have　light　enough　from　the
  sunset；〃　responded　Jack。
  That　was　just　what　she　didn't　want！　　The　light　from　the　window　was
  that　horrid　vulgar　red　glow　which　she　hated。　　It　might　be　very
  romantic　and　suit　lovers　like　Jack；　but　as　SHE　had　some　work　to　do；
  she　wanted　the　blue　shade　of　the　lamp　to　correct　that　dreadful
  glare。
  CHAPTER　XII。
  John　Milton　had　rowed　back　without　lifting　his　eyes　to　Mrs。
  Ashwood's　receding　figure。　　He　believed　that　he　was　right　in
  declining　her　invitation；　although　he　had　a　miserable　feeling　that
  it　entailed　seeing　her　for　the　last　time。　　With　all　that　he
  believed　was　his　previous　experience　of　the　affections；　he　was
  still　so　untutored　as　to　be　confused　as　to　his　reasons　for
  declining；　or　his　right　to　have　been　shocked　and　disappointed　at
  her　manner。　　It　seemed　to　him　sufficiently　plain　that　he　had
  offended　the　most　perfect　woman　he　had　ever　known　without　knowing
  more。　　The　feeling　he　had　for　her　was　none　the　less　powerful
  because；　in　his　great　simplicity；　it　was　vague　and　unformulated。
  And　it　was　a　part　of　this　strange　simplicity　that　in　his　miserable
  loneliness　his　thoughts　turned　unconsciously　to　his　dead　wife　for
  sympathy　and　consolation。　　Loo　would　have　understood　him！
  Mr。　Fletcher；　who　had　received　him　on　his　arrival　with　singular
  effusiveness　and　cordiality；　had　put　off　their　final　arrangements
  until　after　dinner；　on　account　of　pressing　business。　　It　was
  therefore　with　some　surprise　that　an　hour　before　the　time　he　was
  summoned　to　Fletcher's　room。　　He　was　still　more　surprised　to　find
  him　sitting　at　his　desk；　from　which　a　number　of　business　papers　and
  letters　had　been　hurriedly　thrust　aside　to　make　way　for　a　manuscript。
  A　single　glance　at　it　was　enough　to　show　the　unhappy　John　Milton
  that　it　was　the　one　he　had　sent　to　Mrs。　Ashwood。　　The　color　flashed
  to　his　cheek　and　he　felt　a　mist　before　his　eyes。　　His　employer's
  face；　on　the　contrary；　was　quite　pale；　and　his　eyes　were　fixed　on
  Harcourt　with　a　singular　intensity。　　His　voice　too；　although　under
  great　control；　was　hard　and　strange。
  〃Read　that；〃　he　said；　handing　the　young　man　a　letter。
  The　color　again　streamed　into　John　Milton's　face　as　he　recognized
  the　hand　of　Mrs。　Ashwood；　and　remained　there　while　he　read　it。
  When　he　put　it　down；　however；　he　raised　his　frank　eyes　to
  Fletcher's；　and　said　with　a　certain　dignity　and　manliness：　〃What
  she　says　is　the　truth；　sir。　　But　it　is　I　alone　who　am　at　fault。
  This　manuscript　is　merely　MY　stupid　idea　of　a　very　simple　story　she
  was　once　kind　enough　to　tell　me　when　we　were　talking　of　strange
  occurrences　in　real　life；　which　she　thought　I　might　some　time　make
  use　of　in　my　work。　　I　tried　to　embellish　it；　and　failed。　　That's
  all。　　I　will　take　it　back；it　was　written　only　for　her。〃
  There　was　such　an　irresistible　truthfulness　and　sincerity　in　his
  voice　and　manner；　that　any　idea　of　complicity　with　the　sender　was
  dismissed　from　Fletcher's　mind。　　As　Harcourt；　however；　extended　his
  hand　for　the　manuscript　Fletcher　interfered。
  〃You　forget　that　you　gave　it　to　her；　and　she　has　sent　it　to　me。　　If
  I　don't　keep　it；　it　can　be　returned　to　her　only。　　Now　may　I　ask　who
  is　this　lady　who　takes　such　an　interest　in　your　literary　career？
  Have　you　known　her　long？　　Is　she　a　friend　of　your　family？〃
  The　slight　sneer　that　accompanied　his　question　restored　the　natural
  color　to　the　young　man's　face；　but　kindled　his　eye　ominously。
  〃No；〃　he　said　briefly。　　〃I　met　her　accidentally　about　two　months
  ago　and　as　accidentally　found　out　that　she　had　taken　an　interest　in
  one　of　the　first　things　I　ever　wrote　for　your　paper。　　She　neither
  knew　you　nor　me。　　It　was　then　that　she　told　me　this　story；　she　did
  not　even　then　know　who　I　was；　though　she　had　met　some　of　my　family。
  She　was　very　good　and　has　generously　tried　to　help　me。〃
  Fletcher's　eyes　remained　fixed　upon　him。
  〃But　this　tells　me　only　WHAT　she　is；　not　WHO　she　is。〃
  〃I　am　afraid　you　must　inquire　of　her　brother；　Mr。　Shipley；〃　said
  Harcourt　curtly。
  〃Shipley？〃
  〃Yes；　he　is　traveling　with　her　for　his　health；　and　they　are　going
  south　when　the　rains　come。　　They　are　wealthy　Philadelphians；　I
  believe；　andand　she　is　a　widow。〃
  Fletcher　picked　up　her　note　and　glanced　again　at　the　signature；
  〃Constance　Ashwood。〃　　There　was　a　moment　of　silence；　when　he
  resumed　in　quite　a　different　voice：　〃It's　odd　I　never　met　them　nor
  they　me。〃
  As　he　seemed　to　be　waiting　for　a　response；　John　Milton　said　simply：
  〃I　suppose　it's　because　they　have　not　been　here　long；　and　are
  somewhat　reserved。〃
  Mr。　Fletcher　laid　aside　the　manuscript　and　letter；　and　took　up　his
  apparently　suspended　work。
  〃When　you　see　this　Mrs。Mrs。　Ashwood　again；　you　might　say〃
  〃I　shall　not　see　her　again；〃　interrupted　John　Milton　hastily。
  Mr。　Fletcher　shrugged　his　shoulders。　　〃Very　well；〃　he　said　with　a
  peculiar　smile；　〃I　will　write　to　her。　　Now；　Mr。　Harcourt；〃　he
  continued　with　a　sudden　business　brevity；　〃if　you　please；　we'll
  drop　this　affair　and　attend　to　the　matter　for　which　I　just　summoned
  you。　　Since　yesterday　an　important　contract　for　which　I　have　been
  waiting　is　concluded；　and　its　performance　will　take　me　East　at
  once。　　I　have　made　arrangem