"A great one, if necessary."

Not a muscle of the man's frame moved, and yet his large heart beat fast in his deep chest. What was she going to tell him? Was irremediable mischief done?

"Had I thought it right to go to you, I would never have made a secret of the matter one moment," she continued: "I would have told at once, and asked advice."

"Why was it not right to come to me?"

"It might be right—I do not mean that; but I could not do it. I seemed to have no title to trouble you: the mishap concerned me only—I wanted to keep it to myself, and people will not let me. I tell you, I hate to be an object of worrying attention, or a theme for village-gossip. Besides, it may pass away without result—God knows!"

Moore, though tortured with suspense, did not demand a quick explanation; he suffered neither gesture, glance, nor word, to betray impatience. His tranquillity tranquillized Shirley; his confidence reassured her.

"Great effects may spring from trivial causes," she remarked, as she loosened a bracelet from her wrist; then, unfastening her sleeve, and partially turning it up,—

"Look here, Mr. Moore."

She shewed a mark in her white arm; rather a deep, though healed up indentation: something between a burn and a cut.