The discovery of the letter gave a new direction to Emily'sthoughts--and so, for the time at least, relieved her mind fromthe burden that weighed on it. To what question, on her father'spart, had "I say No" been Miss Jethro's brief and stern reply?Neither letter nor envelope offered the slightest hint that mightassist inquiry; even the postmark had been so carelesslyimpressed that it was illegible.

Emily was still pondering over the three mysterious words, whenshe was interrupted by Mrs. Ellmother's voice at the door.

"I must ask you to let me come in, miss; though I know you wishedto be left by yourself till to-morrow. Mrs. Delvin says she mustpositively see you to-night. It's my belief that she will sendfor the servants, and have herself carried in here, if you refuseto do what she asks. You needn't be afraid of seeing Mr.Mirabel."

"Where is he?"

"His sister has given up her bedroom to him," Mrs. Ellmotheranswered. "She thought of your feelings before she sent mehere--and had the curtains closed between the sitting-room andthe bedroom. I suspect my nasty temper misled me, when I took adislike to Mrs. Delvin. She's a good creature; I'm sorry youdidn't go to her as soon as we got back."

"Did she seem to be angry, when she sent you here?"

"Angry! She was crying when I left her."

Emily hesitated no longer.

She noticed a remarkable change in the invalid's sitting-room--sobrilliantly lighted on other occasions--the moment she enteredit. The lamps were shaded, and the candles were all extinguished."My eyes don't bear the light so well as usual," Mrs. Delvinsaid. "Come and sit near me, Emily; I hope to quiet your mind. Ishould be grieved if you left my house with a wrong impression ofme."

Knowing what she knew, suffering as she must have suffered, thequiet kindness of her tone implied an exercise of self-restraintwhich appealed irresistibly to Emily's sympathies. "Forgive me,"she said, "for having done you an injustice. I am ashamed tothink that I shrank from seeing you when I returned fromBelford."

"I will endeavor to be worthy of your better opinion of me," Mrs.Delvin replied. "In one respect at least, I may claim to have hadyour best interests at heart--while we were still personallystrangers. I tried to prevail on my poor brother to own thetruth, when he discovered the terrible position in which he wasplaced toward you. He was too conscious of the absence of anyproof which might induce you to believe him, if he attempted todefend himself--in one word, he was too timid--to take my advice.He has paid the penalty, and I have paid the penalty, ofdeceiving you."

Emily started. "In what way have you deceived me?" she asked.

"In the way that was forced on us by our own conduct," Mrs.Delvin said. "We have appeared to help you, without really doingso; we calculated on inducing you to marry my brother, and then(when he could speak with the authority of a husband) onprevailing on you to give up all further inquiries. When youinsisted on seeing Mrs. Rook, Miles had the money in his hand tobribe her and her husband to leave England."

"Oh, Mrs. Delvin!"

"I don't attempt to excuse myself. I don't expect you to considerhow sorely I was tempted to secure the happiness of my brother'slife, by marriage with such a woman as yourself. I don't remindyou that I knew--when I put obstacles in your way--that you wereblindly devoting yourself to the discovery of an innocent man."

Emily heard her with angry surprise. "Innocent?" she repeated."Mrs. Rook recognized his voice the instant she heard him speak."

Impenetrable to interruption, Mrs. Delvin went on. "But what I doask," she persisted, "even after our short acquaintance, is this.Do you suspect me of deliberately scheming to make you the wifeof a murderer?"

Emily had never viewed the serious question between them in thislight. Warmly, generously, she answered the appeal that had beenmade to her. "Oh, don't think that of me! I know I spokethoughtlessly and cruelly to you, just now--"

"You spoke impulsively," Mrs. Delvin interposed; "that was all.My one desire before we part--how can I expect you to remainhere, after what has happened?--is to tell you the truth. I haveno interested object in view; for all hope of your marriage withmy brother is now at an end. May I ask if you have heard that heand your father were strangers, when they met at the inn?"

"Yes; I know that."

"If there had been any conversation between them, when theyretired to rest, they might have mentioned their names. But yourfather was preoccupied; and my brother, after a long day's walk,was so tired that he fell asleep as soon as his head was on thepillow. He only woke when the morning dawned. What he saw when helooked toward the opposite bed might have struck with terror theboldest man that ever lived. His first impulse was naturally toalarm the house. When he got on his feet, he saw his own razor--ablood-stained razor on the bed by the side of the corp se. Atthat discovery, he lost all control over himself. In a panic ofterror, he snatched up his knapsack, unfastened the yard door,and fled from the house. Knowing him, as you and I know him, canwe wonder at it? Many a man has been hanged for murder, oncircumstantial evidence less direct than the evidence againstpoor Miles. His horror of his own recollections was sooverpowering that he forbade me even to mention the inn atZeeland in my letters, while he was abroad. 'Never tell me (hewrote) who that wretched murdered stranger was, if I only heardof his name, I believe it would haunt me to my dying day. I oughtnot to trouble you with these details--and yet, I am surely notwithout excuse. In the absence of any proof, I cannot expect youto believe as I do in my brother's innocence. But I may at leasthope to show you that there is some reason for doubt. Will yougive him the benefit of that doubt?"

"Willingly!" Emily replied. "Am I right in supposing that youdon't despair of proving his innocence, even yet'?"

"I don't quite despair. But my hopes have grown fainter andfainter, as the years have gone on. There is a person associatedwith his escape from Zeeland; a person named Jethro--"

"You mean Miss Jethro!"

"Yes. Do you know her?"

"I know her--and my father knew her. I have found a letter,addressed to him, which I have no doubt was written by MissJethro. It is barely possible that you may understand what itmeans. Pray look at it."

"I am quite unable to help you," Mrs. Delvin answered, afterreading the letter. "All I know of Miss Jethro is that, but forher interposition, my brother might have fallen into the hands ofthe police. She saved him."

"Knowing him, of course?"

"That is the remarkable part of it: they were perfect strangersto each other."

"But she must have had some motive."

"_There_ is the foundation of my hope for Miles. Miss Jethrodeclared, when I wrote and put the question to her, that the onemotive by which she was actuated was the motive of mercy. I don'tbelieve her. To my mind, it is in the last degree improbable thatshe would consent to protect a stranger from discovery, who ownedto her (as my brother did) that he was a fugitive suspected ofmurder. She knows something, I am firmly convinced, of thatdreadful event at Zeeland--and she has some reason for keeping itsecret. Have you any influence over her?"

"Tell me where I can find her."

"I can't tell you. She has removed from the address at which mybrother saw her last. He has made every possible inquiry--withoutresult."

As she replied in those discouraging terms, the curtains whichdivided Mrs. Delvin's bedroom from her sitting-room were drawnaside. An elderly woman-servant approached her mistress's couch.

"Mr. Mirabel is awake, ma'am. He is very low; I can hardly feelhis pulse. Shall I give him some more brandy?"

Mrs. Delvin held out her hand to Emily. "Come to me to-morrowmorning," she said--and signed to the servant to wheel her couchinto the next room. As the curtain closed over them, Emily heardMirabel's voice. "Where am I?" he said faintly. "Is it all adream?"

The prospect of his recovery the next morning was gloomy indeed.He had sunk into a state of deplorable weakness, in mind as wellas in body. The little memory of events that he still preservedwas regarded by him as the memory of a dream. He alluded toEmily, and to his meeting with her unexpectedly. But from thatpoint his recollection failed him. They had talked of somethinginteresting, he said--but he was unable to remember what it was.And they had waited together at a railway station--but for whatpurpose he could not tell. He sighed and wondered when Emilywould marry him--and so fell asleep again, weaker than ever.

Not having any confidence in the doctor at Belford, Mrs. Delvinhad sent an urgent message to a physician at Edinburgh, famousfor his skill in treating diseases of the nervous system. "Icannot expect him to reach this remote place, without somedelay," she said; "I must bear my suspense as well as I can."

"You shall not bear it alone," Emily answered. "I will wait withyou till the doctor comes."

Mrs. Delvin lifted her frail wasted hands to Emily's face, drewit a little nearer--and kissed her.