THE servant, appearing the next morning in Anne's room with thebreakfast tray, closed the door with an air of mystery, andannounced that strange things were going on in the house.

"Did you hear nothing last night, ma'am," she asked, "down stairsin the passage?"

"I thought I heard some voices whispering outside my room," Annereplied. "Has any thing happened?"

Extricated from the confusion in which she involved it, thegirl's narrative amounted in substance to this. She had beenstartled by the sudden appearance of her mistress in the passage,staring about her wildly, like a woman who had gone out of hersenses. Almost at the same moment "the master" had flung open thedrawing-room door. He had caught Mrs. Dethridge by the arm, haddragged her into the room, and had closed the door again. Afterthe two had remained shut up together for more than half an hour,Mrs. Dethridge had come out, as pale as ashes, and had gone upstairs trembling like a person in great terror. Some time later,when the servant was in bed, but not asleep, she had seen a lightunder her door, in the narrow wooden passage which separatedAnne's bedroom from Hester's bedroom, and by which she obtainedaccess to her own little sleeping-chamber beyond. She had got outof bed; had looked through the keyhole; and had seen "the master"and Mrs. Dethridge standing together examining the walls of thepassage. "The master" had laid his hand upon the wall, on theside of his wife's room, and had looked at Mrs. Dethridge. AndMrs. Dethridge had looked back at him, and had shaken her head.Upon that he had said in a whisper (still with his hand on thewooden wall), "Not to be done here?" And Mrs. Dethridge hadshaken her head. He had considered a moment, and had whisperedagain, "The other room will do! won't it?" And Mrs. Dethridge hadnodded her head--and so they had parted. That was the story ofthe night. Early in the morning, more strange things hadhappened. The master had gone out, with a large sealed packet inhis hand, covered with many stamps; taking his own letter to thepost, instead of sending the servant with it as usual. On hisreturn, Mrs. Dethridge had gone out next, and had come back withsomething in a jar which she had locked up in her ownsitting-room. Shortly afterward, a working-man had brought abundle of laths, and some mortar and plaster of Paris, which hadbeen carefully placed together in a corner of the scullery. Last,and most remarkable in the series of domestic events, the girlhad received permission to go home and see her friends in thecountry, on that very day; having been previously informed, whenshe entered Mrs. Dethridge's service, that she was not to expectto have a holiday granted to her until after Christmas. Such werethe strange things which had happened in the house since theprevious night. What was the interpretation to be placed on them?

The right interpretation was not easy to discover.

Some of the events pointed apparently toward coming repairs oralterations in the cottage. But what Geoffrey could have to dowith them (being at the time served with a notice to quit), andwhy Hester Dethridge should have shown the violent agitationwhich had been described, were mysteries which it was impossibleto penetrate.

Anne dismissed the girl with a little present and a few kindwords. Under other circumstances, the incomprehensibleproceedings in the house might have made her seriously uneasy.But her mind was now occupied by more pressing anxieties.Blanche's second letter (received from Hester Dethridge on theprevious evening) informed her that Sir Patrick persisted in hisresolution, and that he and his niece might be expected, comewhat might of it, to present themselves at the cottage on thatday.

Anne opened the letter, and looked at it for the second time. Thepassages relating to Sir Patrick were expressed in these terms:

"I don't think, darling, you have any idea of the interest thatyou have roused in my uncle. Although he has not to reproachhimself, as I have, with being the miserable cause of thesacrifice that you have made, he is quite as wretched and quiteas anxious about you as I am. We talk of nobody else. He saidlast night that he did not believe there was your equal in theworld. Think of that from a man who has such terribly sharp eyesfor the faults of women in general, and such a terribly sharptongue in talking of them! I am pledged to secrecy; but I musttell you one other thing, between ourselves. Lord Holchester'sannouncement that his brother refuses to consent to a separationput my uncle almost beside himself. If there is not some changefor the better in your life in a few days' time, Sir Patrick willfind out a way of his own--lawful or not, he doesn't care--forrescuing you from the dreadful position in which you are placed,and Arnold (with my full approval) will help him. As weunderstand it, you are, under one pretense or another, kept aclose prisoner. Sir Patrick has already secured a post ofobservation near you. He and Arnold went all round the cottagelast night, and examined a door in your back garden wall, with alocksmith to help them. You will no doubt hear further about thisfrom Sir Patrick himself. Pray don't appear to know any thing ofit when you see him! I am not in his confidence--but Arnold is,which comes to the same thing exactly. You will see us (I meanyou will see my uncle and me) to-morrow, in spite of the brutewho keeps you under lock and key. Arnold will not accompany us;he is not to be trusted (he owns it himself) to control hisindignation. Courage, dearest! There are two people in the worldto whom you are inestimably precious, and who are determined notto let your happiness be sacrificed. I am one of them, and (forHeaven's sake keep this a secret also!) Sir Patrick is theother."

Absorbed in the letter, and in the conflict of opposite feelingswhich it roused--her color rising when it turned her thoughtsinward on herself, and fading again when she was reminded by itof the coming visit--Anne was called back to a sense of presentevents by the reappearance of the servant, charged with amessage. Mr. Speedwell had been for some time in the cottage, andhe was now waiting to see her down stairs.

Anne found the surgeon alone in the drawing-room. He apologizedfor disturbing her at that early hour.

"It was impossible for me to get to Fulham yesterday," he said,"and I could only make sure of complying with Lord Holchester'srequest by coming here before the time at which I receivepatients at home. I have seen Mr. Delamayn, and I have requestedpermission to say a word to you on the subject of his health."

Anne looked through the window, and saw Geoffrey smoking hispipe--not in the back garden, as usual, but in front of thecottage, where he could keep his eye on the gate.

"Is he ill?" she asked.

"He is seriously ill," answered Mr. Speedwell. "I should nototherwise have troubled you with this interview. It is a matterof professional duty to warn you, as his wife, that he is indanger. He may be seized at any moment by a paralytic stroke. Theonly chance for him--a very poor one, I am bound to say--is tomake him alter his present mode of life without loss of time."

"In one way he will be obliged to alter it," said Anne. "He hasreceived notice from the landlady to quit this cottage."

Mr. Speedwell looked surprised.

"I think you will find that the notice has been withdrawn," hesaid. "I can only assure you that Mr. Delamayn distinctlyinformed me, when I advised change of air, that he had decided,for reasons of his own, on remaining here."

(Another in the series of incomprehensible domestic events!Hester Dethridge--on all other occasions the most immovable ofwomen--had changed her mind!)

"Setting that aside," proceeded the surgeon, "there are twopreventive measures which I feel bound to suggest. Mr. Delamaynis evidently suffering (though he declines to admit it himself)from mental anxiety. If he is to have a chance for his life, thatanxiety must be set at rest. Is it in your power to relieve it?"

"It is not even in my power, Mr. Speedwell, to tell you what itis."

The surgeon bowed, and went on:

"The second caution that I have to give you," he said, "is tokeep him from drinking spirits. He admits having committed anexcess in that way the night before last. In his state of health,drinking means literally death. If he goes back to thebrandy-bottle--forgive me for saying it plainly; the matter istoo serious to be trifled with--if he goes back to thebrandy-bottle, his life, in my opinion, is not worth fiveminutes' purchase. Can you keep him from drinking?"

Anne answered sadly and plainly:

"I have no influence over him. The terms we are living on here--"

Mr. Speedwell considerately stopped her.

"I understand," he said. "I will see his brother on my way home."He looked for a moment at Anne. "You are far from well yourself,"he resumed. "Can I do any thing for you?"

"While I am living my present life, Mr. Speedwell, not even yourskill can help me."

The surgeon took his leave. Anne hurried back up stairs, beforeGeoffrey could re-enter the cottage. To see the man who had laidher life waste--to meet the vindictive hatred that lookedfurtively at her out of his eyes--at the moment when sentence ofdeath had been pronounced on him, was an ordeal from which everyfiner instinct in her nature shrank in horror.

Hour by hour, the morning wore on, and he made no attempt tocommunicate with her, Stranger still, Hester Dethridge neverappeared. The servant came up stairs to say goodby; and went awayfor her holiday. Shortly afterward, certain sounds reached Anne'sears from the opposite side of the passage. She heard the strokesof a hammer, and then a noise as of some heavy piece of furniturebeing moved. The mysterious repairs were apparently being begunin the spare room.

She went to the window. The hour was approaching at which SirPatrick and Blanche might be expected to make the attempt to seeher.

For the third time, she looked at the letter.

It suggested, on this occasion, a new consideration to her. Didthe strong measures which Sir Patrick had taken in secretindicate alarm as well as sympathy? Did he believe she was in aposition in which the protection of the law was powerless toreach her? It seemed just possible. Suppose she were free toconsult a magistrate, and to own to him (if words could expressit) the vague presentiment of danger which was then present inher mind--what proof could she produce to satisfy the mind of astranger? The proofs were all in her husband's favor. Witnessescould testify to the conciliatory words which he had spoken toher in their presence. The evidence of his mother and brotherwould show that he had preferred to sacrifice his own pecuniaryinterests rather than consent to part with her. She could furnishnobody with the smallest excuse, in her case, for interferingbetween man and wife. Did Sir Patrick see this? And did Blanche'sdescription of what he and Arnold Brinkworth were doing point tothe conclusion that they were taking the law into their own handsin despair? The more she thought of it, the more likely itseemed.

She was still pursuing the train of thought thus suggested, whenthe gate-bell rang.

The noises in the spare room suddenly stopped.

Anne looked out. The roof of a carriage was visible on the otherside of the wall. Sir Patrick and Blanche had arrived. After aninterval Hester Dethridge appeared in the garden, and went to thegrating in the gate. Anne heard Sir Patrick's voice, clear andresolute. Every word he said reached her ears through the openwindow.

"Be so good as to give my card to Mr. Delamayn. Say that I bringhim a message from Holchester House, and that I can only deliverit at a personal interview."

Hester Dethridge returned to the cottage. Another, and a longerinterval elapsed. At the end of the time, Geoffrey himselfappeared in the front garden, with the key in his hand. Anne'sheart throbbed fast as she saw him unlock the gate, and askedherself what was to follow.

To her unutterable astonishment, Geoffrey admitted Sir Patrickwithout the slightest hesitation--and, more still, he invitedBlanche to leave the carriage and come in!

"Let by-gones be by-gones," Anne heard him say to Sir Patrick. "Ionly want to do the right thing. If it's the right thing forvisitors to come here, so soon after my father's death, come, andwelcome. My own notion was, when you proposed it before, that itwas wrong. I am not much versed in these things. I leave it toyou."

"A visitor who brings you messages from your mother and yourbrother," Sir Patrick answered gravely, "is a person whom it isyour duty to admit, Mr. Delamayn, under any circumstances."

"And he ought to be none the less welcome," added Blanche, "whenhe is accompanied by your wife's oldest and dearest friend."

Geoffrey looked, in stolid submission, from one to the other.

"I am not much versed in these things," he repeated. "I have saidalready, I leave it to you."

They were by this time close under Anne's window. She showedherself. Sir Patrick took off his hat. Blanche kissed her handwith a cry of joy, and attempted to enter the cottage. Geoffreystopped her--and called to his wife to come down.

"No! no!" said Blanche. "Let me go up to her in her room."

She attempted for the second time to gain the stairs. For thesecond time Geoffrey stopped her. "Don't trouble yourself," hesaid; "she is coming down."

Anne joined them in the front garden. Blanche flew into her armsand devoured her with kisses. Sir Patrick took her hand insilence. For the first time in Anne's experience of him, thebright, resolute, self-reliant old man was, for the moment, at aloss what to say, at a loss what to do. His eyes, resting on herin mute sympathy and interest, said plainly, "In your husband'spresence I must not trust myself to speak."

Geoffrey broke the silence.

"Will you go into the drawing-room?" he asked, looking withsteady attention at his wife and Blanche.

Geoffrey's voice appeared to rouse Sir Patrick. He raised hishead--he looked like himself again.

"Why go indoors this lovely weather?" he said. "Suppose we take aturn in the garden?"

Blanche pressed Anne's hand significantly. The proposal wasevidently made for a purpose. They turned the corner of thecottage and gained the large garden at the back--the two ladieswalking together, arm in arm; Sir Patrick and Geoffrey followingthem. Little by little, Blanche quickened her pace. "I have gotmy instructions," she whispered to Anne. "Let's get out of hishearing."

It was more easily said than done. Geoffrey kept close behindthem.

"Consider my lameness, Mr. Delamayn," said Sir Patrick. "Notquite so fast."

It was well intended. But Geoffrey's cunning had taken the alarm.Instead of dropping behind with Sir Patrick, he called to hiswife.

"Consider Sir Patrick's lameness," he repeated. "Not quite sofast."

Sir Patrick met that check with characteristic readiness. WhenAnne slackened her pace, he addressed himself to Geoffrey,stopping deliberately in the middle of the path. "Let me give youmy message from Holchester House," he said. The two ladies werestill slowly walking on. Geoffrey was placed between thealternatives of staying with Sir Patrick and leaving them bythemselves--or of following them and leaving Sir Patrick.Deliberately, on his side, he followed the ladies.

Sir Patrick called him back. "I told you I wished to speak toyou," he said, sharply.

Driven to bay, Geoffrey openly revealed his resolution to giveBlanche no opportunity of speaking in private to Anne. He calledto Anne to stop.

"I have no secrets from my wife," he said. "And I expect my wifeto have no secrets from me. Give me the message in her hearing."

Sir Patrick's eyes brightened with indignation. He controlledhimself, and looked for an instant significantly at his niecebefore he spoke to Geoffrey.

"As you please ," he said. "Your brother requests me to tell youthat the duties of the new position in which he is placed occupythe whole of his time, and will prevent him from returning toFulham, as he had proposed, for some days to come. LadyHolchester, hearing that I was likely to see you, has charged mewith another message, from herself. She is not well enough toleave home; and she wishes to see you at Holchester Houseto-morrow--accompanied (as she specially desires) by Mrs.Delamayn."

In giving the two messages, he gradually raised his voice to alouder tone than usual. While he was speaking, Blanche (warned tofollow her instructions by the glance her uncle had cast at her)lowered her voice, and said to Anne:

"He won't consent to the separation as long as he has got youhere. He is trying for higher terms. Leave him, and he mustsubmit. Put a candle in your window, if you can get into thegarden to-night. If not, any other night. Make for the back gatein the wall. Sir Patrick and Arnold will manage the rest."

She slipped those words into Anne's ears--swinging her parasol toand fro, and looking as if the merest gossip was dropping fromher lips--with the dexterity which rarely fails a woman when sheis called on to assist a deception in which her own interests areconcerned. Cleverly as it had been done, however, Geoffrey'sinveterate distrust was stirred into action by it. Blanche hadgot to her last sentence before he was able to turn his attentionfrom what Sir Patrick was saying to what his niece was saying. Aquicker man would have heard more. Geoffrey had only distinctlyheard the first half of the last sentence.

"What's that," he asked, "about Sir Patrick and Arnold?"

"Nothing very interesting to you," Blanche answered, readily. "Iwill repeat it if you like. I was telling Anne about mystep-mother, Lady Lundie. After what happened that day inPortland Place, she has requested Sir Patrick and Arnold toconsider themselves, for the future, as total strangers to her.That's all."

"Oh!" said Geoffrey, eying her narrowly.

"Ask my uncle," returned Blanche, "if you don't believe that Ihave reported her correctly. She gave us all our dismissal, inher most magnificent manner, and in those very words. Didn't she,Sir Patrick?"

It was perfectly true. Blanche's readiness of resource had metthe emergency of the moment by describing something, inconnection with Sir Patrick and Arnold, which had reallyhappened. Silenced on one side, in spite of himself, Geoffrey wasat the same moment pressed on the other for an answer to hismother's message.

"I must take your reply to Lady Holchester, " said Sir Patrick."What is it to be?"

Geoffrey looked hard at him, without making any reply.

Sir Patrick repeated the message--with a special emphasis on thatpart of it which related to Anne. The emphasis roused Geoffrey'stemper.

"You and my mother have made that message up between you, to tryme!" he burst out. "Damn all underhand work is what _I_ say!"

"I am waiting for your answer," persisted Sir Patrick, steadilyignoring the words which had just been addressed to him.

Geoffrey glanced at Anne, and suddenly recovered himself.

"My love to my mother," he said. "I'll go to her to-morrow--andtake my wife with me, with the greatest pleasure. Do you hearthat? With the greatest pleasure." He stopped to observe theeffect of his reply. Sir Patrick waited impenetrably to hearmore--if he had more to say. "I'm sorry I lost my temper justnow," he resumed "I am badly treated--I'm distrusted without acause. I ask you to bear witness," he added, his voice gettinglouder again, while his eyes moved uneasily backward and forwardbetween Sir Patrick and Anne, "that I treat my wife as becomes alady. Her friend calls on her--and she's free to receive herfriend. My mother wants to see her--and I promise to take her tomy mother's. At two o'clock to-morrow. Where am I to blame? Youstand there looking at me, and saying nothing. Where am I toblame?"

"If a man's own conscience justifies him, Mr. Delamayn," said SirPatrick, "the opinions of others are of very little importance.My errand here is performed."

As he turned to bid Anne farewell, the uneasiness that he felt atleaving her forced its way to view. The color faded out of hisface. His hand trembled as it closed tenderly and firmly on hers."I shall see you to-morrow, at Holchester House," he said; givinghis arm while he spoke to Blanche. He took leave of Geoffrey,without looking at him again, and without seeing his offeredhand. In another minute they were gone.

Anne waited on the lower floor of the cottage while Geoffreyclosed and locked the gate. She had no wish to appear to avoidhim, after the answer that he had sent to his mother's message.He returned slowly half-way across the front garden, lookedtoward the passage in which she was standing, passed before thedoor, and disappeared round the corner of the cottage on his wayto the back garden. The inference was not to be mistaken. It wasGeoffrey who was avoiding _her._ Had he lied to Sir Patrick? Whenthe next day came would he find reasons of his own for refusingto take her to Holchester House?

She went up stairs. At the same moment Hester Dethridge openedher bedroom door to come out. Observing Anne, she closed it againand remained invisible in her room. Once more the inference wasnot to be mistaken. Hester Dethridge, also, had her reasons foravoiding Anne.

What did it mean? What object could there be in common betweenHester and Geoffrey?

There was no fathoming the meaning of it. Anne's thoughtsreverted to the communication which had been secretly made to herby Blanche. It was not in womanhood to be insensible to suchdevotion as Sir Patrick's conduct implied. Terrible as herposition had become in its ever-growing uncertainty, in itsnever-ending suspense, the oppression of it yielded for themoment to the glow of pride and gratitude which warmed her heart,as she thought of the sacrifices that had been made, of theperils that were still to be encountered, solely for her sake. Toshorten the period of suspense seemed to be a duty which she owedto Sir Patrick, as well as to herself. Why, in her situation,wait for what the next day might bring forth? If the opportunityoffered, she determined to put the signal in the window thatnight.

Toward evening she heard once more the noises which appeared toindicate that repairs of some sort were going on in the house.This time the sounds were fainter; and they came, as she fancied,not from the spare room, as before, but from Geoffrey's room,next to it.

The dinner was later than usual that day. Hester Dethridge didnot appear with the tray till dusk. Anne spoke to her, andreceived a mute sign in answer. Determined to see the woman'sface plainly, she put a question which required a written answeron the slate; and, telling Hester to wait, went to themantle-piece to light her candle. When she turned round with thelighted candle in her hand, Hester was gone.

Night came. She rang her bell to have the tray taken away. Thefall of a strange footstep startled her outside her door. Shecalled out, "Who's there?" The voice of the lad whom Geoffreyemployed to go on errands for him answered her.

"What do you want here?" she asked, through the door.

"Mr. Delamayn sent me up, ma'am. He wishes to speak to youdirectly."

Anne found Geoffrey in the dining-room. His object in wishing tospeak to her was, on the surface of it, trivial enough. He wantedto know how she would prefer going to Holchester House on thenext day--by the railway, or in a carriage. "If you preferdriving," he said, "the boy has come here for orders, and he cantell them to send a carriage from the livery-stables, as he goeshome."

"The railway will do perfectly well for me," Anne replied.

Instead of accepting the answer, and dropping the subject, heasked her to reconsider her decision. There was an absent, uneasyexpression in his eye as he begged her not to consult economy atthe expense of her own comfort. He appeared to have some reasonof his own for preventing her from leaving the room. "Sit d own aminute, and think before you decide," he said. Having forced herto take a chair, he put his head outside the door and directedthe lad to go up stairs, and see if he had left his pipe in hisbedroom. "I want you to go in comfort, as a lady should," herepeated, with the uneasy look more marked than ever. Before Annecould reply, the lad's voice reached them from the bedroom floor,raised in shrill alarm, and screaming "Fire!"

Geoffrey ran up stairs. Anne followed him. The lad met them atthe top of the stairs. He pointed to the open door of Anne'sroom. She was absolutely certain of having left her lightedcandle, when she went down to Geoffrey, at a safe distance fromthe bed-curtains. The bed-curtains, nevertheless, were in a blazeof fire.

There was a supply of water to the cottage, on the upper floor.The bedroom jugs and cans usually in their places at an earlierhour, were standing that night at the cistern. An empty pail wasleft near them. Directing the lad to bring him water from theseresources, Geoffrey tore down the curtains in a flaming heap,partly on the bed and partly on the sofa near it. Using the canand the pail alternately, as the boy brought them, he drenchedthe bed and the sofa. It was all over in little more than aminute. The cottage was saved. But the bed-furniture wasdestroyed; and the room, as a matter of course, was rendereduninhabitable, for that night at least, and probably for morenights to come.

Geoffrey set down the empty pail; and, turning to Anne, pointedacross the passage.

"You won't be much inconvenienced by this," he said. "You haveonly to shift your quarters to the spare room."

With the assistance of the lad, he moved Anne's boxes, and thechest of drawers, which had escaped damage, into the oppositeroom. This done, he cautioned her to be careful with her candlesfor the future--and went down stairs, without waiting to hearwhat she said in reply. The lad followed him, and was dismissedfor the night.

Even in the confusion which attended the extinguishing of thefire, the conduct of Hester Dethridge had been remarkable enoughto force itself on the attention of Anne.

She had come out from her bedroom, when the alarm was given; hadlooked at the flaming curtains; and had drawn back, stolidlysubmissive, into a corner to wait the event. There she hadstood--to all appearance, utterly indifferent to the possibledestruction of her own cottage. The fire extinguished, she stillwaited impenetrably in her corner, while the chest of drawers andthe boxes were being moved--then locked the door, without even apassing glance at the scorched ceiling and the burnedbed-furniture--put the key into her pocket--and went back to herroom.

Anne had hitherto not shared the conviction felt by most otherpersons who were brought into contact with Hester Dethridge, thatthe woman's mind was deranged. After what she had just seen,however, the general impression became her impression too. Shehad thought of putting certain questions to Hester, when theywere left together, as to the origin of the fire. Reflectiondecided her on saying nothing, for that night at least. Shecrossed the passage, and entered the spare room--the room whichshe had declined to occupy on her arrival at the cottage, andwhich she was obliged to sleep in now.

She was instantly struck by a change in the disposition of thefurniture of the room.

The bed had been moved. The head--set, when she had last seen it,against the side wall of the cottage--was placed now against thepartition wall which separated the room from Geoffrey's room.This new arrangement had evidently been effected with a settledpurpose of some sort. The hook in the ceiling which supported thecurtains (the bed, unlike the bed in the other room, having nocanopy attached to it) had been moved so as to adapt itself tothe change that had been made. The chairs and the washhand-stand,formerly placed against the partition wall, were now, as a matterof necessity, shifted over to the vacant space against the sidewall of the cottage. For the rest, no other alteration wasvisible in any part of the room.

In Anne's situation, any event not immediately intelligible onthe face of it, was an event to be distrusted. Was there a motivefor the change in the position of the bed? And was it, by anychance, a motive in which she was concerned?

The doubt had barely occurred to her, before a startlingsuspicion succeeded it. Was there some secret purpose to beanswered by making her sleep in the spare room? Did the questionwhich the servant had heard Geoffrey put to Hester, on theprevious night, refer to this? Had the fire which had sounaccountably caught the curtains in her own room, been, by anypossibility, a fire purposely kindled, to force her out?

She dropped into the nearest chair, faint with horror, as thosethree questions forced themselves in rapid succession on hermind.

After waiting a little, she recovered self-possession enough torecognize the first plain necessity of putting her suspicions tothe test. It was possible that her excited fancy had filled herwith a purely visionary alarm. For all she knew to the contrary,there might be some undeniably sufficient reason for changing theposition of the bed. She went out, and knocked at the door ofHester Dethridge's room.

"I want to speak to you," she said.

Hester came out. Anne pointed to the spare room, and led the wayto it. Hester followed her.

"Why have you changed the place of the bed," she asked, "from thewall there, to the wall here?"

Stolidly submissive to the question, as she had been stolidlysubmissive to the fire, Hester Dethridge wrote her reply. On allother occasions she was accustomed to look the persons to whomshe offered her slate steadily in the face. Now, for the firsttime, she handed it to Anne with her eyes on the floor. The oneline written contained no direct answer: the words were these:

"I have meant to move it, for some time past."

"I ask you why you have moved it."

She wrote these four words on the slate: "The wall is damp."

Anne looked at the wall. There was no sign of damp on the paper.She passed her hand over it. Feel where she might, the wall wasdry.

"That is not your reason," she said.

Hester stood immovable.

"There is no dampness in the wall."

Hester pointed persistently with her pencil to the four words,still without looking up--waited a moment for Anne to read themagain--and left the room.

It was plainly useless to call her back. Anne's first impulsewhen she was alone again was to secure the door. She not onlylocked it, but bolted it at top and bottom. The mortise of thelock and the staples of the bolts, when she tried them, werefirm. The lurking treachery--wherever else it might be--was notin the fastenings of the door.

She looked all round the room; examining the fire place, thewindow and its shutters, the interior of the wardrobe, the hiddenspace under the bed. Nothing was any where to be discovered whichcould justify the most timid person living in feeling suspicionor alarm.

Appearances, fair as they were, failed to convince her. Thepresentiment of some hidden treachery, steadily getting nearerand nearer to her in the dark, had rooted itself firmly in hermind. She sat down, and tried to trace her way back to the clew,through the earlier events of the day.

The effort was fruitless: nothing definite, nothing tangible,rewarded it. Worse still, a new doubt grew out of it--a doubtwhether the motive which Sir Patrick had avowed (through Blanche)was the motive for helping her which was really in his mind.

Did he sincerely believe Geoffrey's conduct to be animated by noworse object than a mercenary object? and was his only purpose inplanning to remove her out of her husband's reach, to forceGeoffrey's consent to their separation on the terms which Juliushad proposed? Was this really the sole end that he had in view?or was he secretly convinced (knowing Anne's position as he knewit) that she was in personal danger at the cottage? and had heconsiderately kept that conviction concealed, in the fear that hemight otherwise e ncourage her to feel alarmed about herself? Shelooked round the strange room, in the silence of the night, andshe felt that the latter interpretation was the likeliestinterpretation of the two.

The sounds caused by the closing of the doors and windows reachedher from the ground-floor. What was to be done?

It was impossible, to show the signal which had been agreed on toSir Patrick and Arnold. The window in which they expected to seeit was the window of the room in which the fire had brokenout--the room which Hester Dethridge had locked up for the night.

It was equally hopeless to wait until the policeman passed on hisbeat, and to call for help. Even if she could prevail uponherself to make that open acknowledgment of distrust under herhusband's roof, and even if help was near, what valid reasoncould she give for raising an alarm? There was not the shadow ofa reason to justify any one in placing her under the protectionof the law.

As a last resource, impelled by her blind distrust of the changein the position of the bed, she attempted to move it. The utmostexertion of her strength did not suffice to stir the heavy pieceof furniture out of its place, by so much as a hair's breadth.

There was no alternative but to trust to the security of thelocked and bolted door, and to keep watch through thenight--certain that Sir Patrick and Arnold were, on their part,also keeping watch in the near neighborhood of the cottage. Shetook out her work and her books; and returned to her chair,placing it near the table, in the middle of the room.

The last noises which told of life and movement about her diedaway. The breathless stillness of the night closed round her.