Having looked at the card, Emily put her first question to theservant.

"Did you tell Mr. Morris what your orders were?" she asked.

"Yes, miss; I said I was to have shown him in, if you had been athome. Perhaps I did wrong; I told him what you told me when youwent out this morning--I said you had gone to read at theMuseum."

"What makes you think you did wrong?"

"Well, miss, he didn't say anything, but he looked upset."

"Do you mean that he looked angry?"

The servant shook her head. "Not exactly angry--puzzled and putout."

"Did he leave any message?"

"He said he would call later, if you would be so good as toreceive him."

In half an hour more, Alban and Emily were together again. Thelight fell full on her face as she rose to receive him.

"Oh, how you have suffered!"

The words escaped him before he could restrain himself. He lookedat her with the tender sympathy, so precious to women, which shehad not seen in the face of any human creature since the loss ofher aunt. Even the good doctor's efforts to console her had beenefforts of professional routine--the inevitable result of hislife-long familiarity with sorrow and death. While Alban's eyesrested on her, Emily felt her tears rising. In the fear that hemight misinterpret her reception of him, she made an effort tospeak with some appearance of composure.

"I lead a lonely life," she said; "and I can well understand thatmy face shows it. You are one of my very few friends, Mr.Morris"--the tears rose again; it discouraged her to see himstanding irresolute, with his hat in his hand, fearful ofintruding on her. "Indeed, indeed, you are welcome," she said,very earnestly.

In those sad days her heart was easily touched. She gave him herhand for the second time. He held it gently for a moment. Everyday since they had parted she had been in his thoughts; she hadbecome dearer to him than ever. He was too deeply affected totrust himself to answer. That silence pleaded for him as nothinghad pleaded for him yet. In her secret self she remembered withwonder how she had received his confession in the school garden.It was a little hard on him, surely, to have forbidden him evento hope.

Conscious of her own weakness--even while giving way to it--shefelt the necessity of turning his attention from herself. In someconfusion, she pointed to a chair at her side, and spoke of hisfirst visit, when he had left her letters at the door. Havingconfided to him all that she had discovered, and all that she hadguessed, on that occasion, it was by an easy transition that shealluded next to the motive for his journey to the North.

"I thought it might be suspicion of Mrs. Rook," she said. "Was Imistaken?"

"No; you were right."

"They were serious suspicions, I suppose?"

"Certainly! I should not otherwise have devoted my holiday-timeto clearing them up."

"May I know what they were?"

"I am sorry to disappoint you," he began.

"But you would rather not answer my question," she interposed.

"I would rather hear you tell me if you have made any otherguess."

"One more, Mr. Morris. I guessed that you had become acquaintedwith Sir Jervis Redwood."

"For the second time, Miss Emily, you have arrived at a soundconclusion. My one hope of finding opportunities for observingSir Jervis's housekeeper depended on my chance of gainingadmission to Sir Jervis's house."

"How did you succeed? Perhaps you provided yourself with a letterof introduction?"

"I knew nobody who could introduce me," Alban replied. "As theevent proved, a letter would have been needless. Sir Jervisintroduced himself--and, more wonderful still, he invited me tohis house at our first interview."

"Sir Jervis introduced himself?" Emily repeated, in amazement."From Cecilia's description of him, I should have thought he wasthe last person in the world to do that!"

Alban smiled. "And you would like to know how it happened?" hesuggested.

"The very favor I was going to ask of you," she replied.

Instead of at once complying with her wishes, hepaused--hesitated--and made a strange request. "Will you forgivemy rudeness, if I ask leave to walk up and down the room while Italk? I am a restless man. Walking up and down helps me toexpress myself freely."

Her f ace brightened for the first time. "How like You that is!"she exclaimed.

Alban looked at her with surprise and delight. She had betrayedan interest in studying his character, which he appreciated atits full value. "I should never have dared to hope," he said,"that you knew me so well already."

"You are forgetting your story," she reminded him.

He moved to the opposite side of the room, where there were fewerimpediments in the shape of furniture. With his head down, andhis hands crossed behind him, he paced to and fro. Habit made himexpress himself in his usual quaint way--but he becameembarrassed as he went on. Was he disturbed by his recollections?or by the fear of taking Emily into his confidence too freely?

"Different people have different ways of telling a story," hesaid. "Mine is the methodical way--I begin at the beginning. Wewill start, if you please, in the railway--we will proceed in aone-horse chaise--and we will stop at a village, situated in ahole. It was the nearest place to Sir Jervis's house, and it wastherefore my destination. I picked out the biggest of thecottages--I mean the huts--and asked the woman at the door if shehad a bed to let. She evidently thought me either mad or drunk. Iwasted no time in persuasion; the right person to plead my causewas asleep in her arms. I began by admiring the baby; and I endedby taking the baby's portrait. From that moment I became a memberof the family--the member who had his own way. Besides the roomoccupied by the husband and wife, there was a sort of kennel inwhich the husband's brother slept. He was dismissed (with fiveshillings of mine to comfort him) to find shelter somewhere else;and I was promoted to the vacant place. It is my misfortune to betall. When I went to bed, I slept with my head on the pillow, andmy feet out of the window. Very cool and pleasant in summerweather. The next morning, I set my trap for Sir Jervis."

"Your trap?" Emily repeated, wondering what he meant.

"I went out to sketch from Nature," Alban continued. "Can anybody(with or without a title, I don't care), living in a lonelycountry house, see a stranger hard at work with a color-box andbrushes, and not stop to look at what he is doing? Three dayspassed, and nothing happened. I was quite patient; the grand opencountry all round me offered lessons of inestimable value in whatwe call aerial perspective. On the fourth day, I was absorbedover the hardest of all hard tasks in landscape art, studying theclouds straight from Nature. The magnificent moorland silence wassuddenly profaned by a man's voice, speaking (or rather croaking)behind me. 'The worst curse of human life,' the voice said, 'isthe detestable necessity of taking exercise. I hate losing mytime; I hate fine scenery; I hate fresh air; I hate a pony. Goon, you brute!' Being too deeply engaged with the clouds to lookround, I had supposed this pretty speech to be addressed to somesecond person. Nothing of the sort; the croaking voice had ahabit of speaking to itself. In a minute more, there came withinmy range of view a solitary old man, mounted on a rough pony."

"Was it Sir Jervis?"

Alban hesitated.

"It looked more like the popular notion of the devil," he said.

"Oh, Mr. Morris!"

"I give you my first impression, Miss Emily, for what it isworth. He had his high-peaked hat in his hand, to keep his headcool. His wiry iron-gray hair looked like hair standing on end;his bushy eyebrows curled upward toward his narrow temples; hishorrid old globular eyes stared with a wicked brightness; hispointed beard hid his chin; he was covered from his throat to hisankles in a loose black garment, something between a coat and acloak; and, to complete him, he had a club foot. I don't doubtthat Sir Jervis Redwood is the earthly alias which he findsconvenient--but I stick to that first impression which appearedto surprise you. 'Ha! an artist; you seem to be the sort of man Iwant!' In those terms he introduced himself. Observe, if youplease, that my trap caught him the moment he came my way. Whowouldn't be an artist?"

"Did he take a liking to you?" Emily inquired.

"Not he! I don't believe he ever took a liking to anybody in hislife."

"Then how did you get your invitation to his house?"

"That's the amusing part of it, Miss Emily. Give me a littlebreathing time, and you shall hear."