"What are we to do next? Oh, Mr. Morris, you must have seen allsorts of people in your time--you know human nature, and I don't.Help me with a word of advice!"

Emily forgot that he was in love with her--forgot everything, butthe effect produced by the locket on Mrs. Rook, and the vaguelyalarming conclusion to which it pointed. In the fervor of heranxiety she took Alban's arm as familiarly as if he had been herbrother. He was gentle, he was considerate; he tried earnestly tocompose her. "We can do nothing to any good purpose," be said,"unless we begin by thinking quietly. Pardon me for sayingso--you are needlessly exciting yourself."

There was a reason for her excitement, of which he wasnecessarily ignorant. Her memory of the night interview with MissJethro had inevitably intensified the suspicion inspired by theconduct of Mrs. Rook. In less than twenty-four hours, Emily hadseen two women shrinking from secret remembrances of herfather--which might well be guilty remembrances--innocentlyexcited by herself! How had they injured him? Of what infamy, ontheir parts, did his beloved and stainless memory remind them?Who could fathom the mystery of it? "What does it mean?" shecried, looking wildly in Alban's compassionate face. "You _must_have formed some idea of your own. What does it mean?"

"Come, and sit down, Miss Emily. We will try if we can find outwhat it means, together."

They returned to the shady solitude under the trees. Away, infront of the house, the distant grating of carriage wheels toldof the arrival of Miss Ladd's guests, and of the speedy beginningof the ceremonies of the day.

"We must help each other," Alban resumed.

"When we first spoke of Mrs. Rook, you mentioned Miss CeciliaWyvil as a person who knew something about her. Have you anyobjection to tell me what you may have heard in that way?"

In complying with his request Emily necessarily repeated whatCecilia had told Francine, when the two girls had met thatmorning in the garden.

Alban now knew how Emily had obtained employment as Sir Jervis'ssecretary; how Mr. and Mrs. Rook had been previously known toCecilia's father as respectable people keeping an inn in his ownneighborhood; and, finally, how they had been obliged to beginlife again in domestic service, because the terrible event of amurder had given the inn a bad name, and had driven away thecustomers on whose encouragement their business depended.

Listening in silence, Alban remained silent when Emily'snarrative had come to an end.

"Have you nothing to say to me?" she asked.

"I am thinking over what I have just heard," he answered.

Emily noticed a certain formality in his tone and manner, whichdisagreeably surprised her. Heseemed to have made his reply as a mere concession topoliteness, while he was thinking of something else which reallyinterested him.

"Have I disappointed you in any way?" she asked.

"On the contrary, you have interested me. I want to be quite surethat I remember exactly what you have said. You mentioned, Ithink, that your friendship with Miss Cecilia Wyvil began here,at the school?"

"Yes."

"And in speaking of the murder at the village inn, you told methat the crime was committed--I have forgotten how long ago?"

His manner still suggested that he was idly talking about whatshe had told him, while some more important subject forreflection was in possession of his mind.

"I don't know that I said anything about the time that had passedsince the crime was committed," she answered, sharply. "What doesthe murder matter to _us?_ I think Cecilia told me it happenedabout four years since. Excuse me for noticing it, Mr.Morris--you seem to have some interests of your own to occupyyour attention. Why couldn't you say so plainly when we came outhere? I should not have asked you to help me, in that case. Sincemy poor father's death, I have been used to fight through mytroubles by myself."

She rose, and looked at him proudly. The next moment her eyesfilled with tears.

In spite of her resistance, Alban took her hand. "Dear MissEmily," he said, "you distress me: you have not done me justice.Your interests only are in my mind."

Answering her in those terms, he had not spoken as frankly asusual. He had only told her a part of the truth.

Hearing that the woman whom they had just left had been landladyof an inn, and that a murder had been committed under her roof,he was led to ask himself if any explanation might be found, inthese circumstances, of the otherwise incomprehensible effectproduced on Mrs. Rook by the inscription on the locket.

In the pursuit of this inquiry there had arisen in his mind amonstrous suspicion, which pointed to Mrs. Rook. It impelled himto ascertain the date at which the murder had been committed, and(if the discovery encouraged further investigation) to find outnext the manner in which Mr. Brown had died.

Thus far, what progress had he made? He had discovered that thedate of Mr. Brown's death, inscribed on the locket, and the dateof the crime committed at the inn, approached each other nearlyenough to justify further investigation.

In the meantime, had he succeeded in keeping his object concealedfrom Emily? He had perfectly succeeded. Hearing him declare thather interests only had occupied his mind, the poor girlinnocently entreated him to forgive her little outbreak oftemper. "If you have any more questions to ask me, Mr. Morris,pray go on. I promise never to think unjustly of you again."

He went on with an uneasy conscience--for it seemed cruel todeceive her, even in the interests of truth--but still he wenton.

"Suppose we assume that this woman had injured your father insome way," he said. "Am I right in believing that it was in hischaracter to forgive injuries?"

"Entirely right."

"In that case, his death may have left Mrs. Rook in a position tobe called to account, by those who owe a duty to his memory--Imean the surviving members of his family."

"There are but two of us, Mr. Morris. My aunt and myself."

"There are his executors."

"My aunt is his only executor."

"Your father's sister--I presume?"

"Yes."

"He may have left instructions with her, which might be of thegreatest use to us."

"I will write to-day, and find out," Emily replied. "I hadalready planned to consult my aunt," she added, thinking again ofMiss Jethro.

"If your aunt has not received any positive instructions," Albancontinued, "she may remember some allusion to Mrs. Rook, on yourfather's part, at the time of his last illness--"

Emily stopped him. "You don't know how my dear father died," shesaid. "He was struck down--apparently in perfect health--bydisease of the heart."

"Struck down in his own house?"

"Yes--in his own house."

Those words closed Alban's lips. The investigation so carefullyand so delicately conducted had failed to serve any usefulpurpose. He had now ascertained the manner of Mr. Brown's deathand the place of Mr. Brown's death--and he was as far fromconfirming his suspicions of Mrs. Rook as ever.