I was in this mood (sitting in my chair as I had done all day and staring into the small slow fire which was slipping to the bottom of the grate) when I heard a soft step in the corridor outside. At the next moment my door was opened noiselessly, and somebody stepped into the room.
It was Mildred, and she knelt by my side and said in a low voice:
"You are in still deeper trouble, Mary—tell me."
I tried to pour out my heart to her as to a mother, but I could not do so, and indeed there was no necessity. The thought that must have rushed into my eyes was instantly reflected in hers.
"It is he, isn't it?" she whispered, and I could only bow my head.
"I thought so from the first," she said. "And now you are thinking of . . . of what is to come?"
Again I could only bow, but Mildred put her arms about me and said:
"Don't lose heart, dear. Our Blessed Lady sent me to take care of you. And I will—I will."
MEMORANDUM BY MARTIN CONRAD
Surely Chance must be the damnedest conspirator against human happiness, or my darling could never have been allowed to suffer so much from the report that my ship was lost.