THE sight that met Moody's view wrung him to the heart.

Isabel and the dog were at play together. Among the variedaccomplishments possessed by Tommie, the capacity to take hispart at a game of hide-and-seek was one. His playfellow for thetime being put a shawl or a handkerchief over his head, so as toprevent him from seeing, and then hid among the furniture apocketbook, or a cigar-case, or a purse, or anything else thathappened to be at hand, leaving the dog to find it, with his keensense of smell to guide him. Doubly relieved by the fit and thebleeding, Tommie's spirits had revived; and he and Isabel hadjust begun their game when Moody looked into the room, chargedwith his terrible errand. "You're burning, Tommie, you'reburning!" cried the girl, laughing and clapping her hands. Thenext moment she happened to look round and saw Moody through theparted curtains. His face warned her instantly that somethingserious had happened. She advanced a few steps, her eyes restingon him in silent alarm. He was himself too painfully agitated tospeak. Not a word was exchanged between Lady Lydiard and Mr. Troyin the next room. In the complete stillness that prevailed, thedog was heard sniffing and fidgeting about the furniture. Roberttook Isabel by the hand and led her into the drawing-room. "ForGod's sake, spare her, my Lady!" he whispered. The lawyer heardhim. "No," said Mr. Troy. "Be merciful, and tell her the truth!"

He spoke to a woman who stood in no need of his advice. Theinherent nobility in Lady Lydiard's nature was aroused: her greatheart offered itself patiently to any sorrow, to any sacrifice.

Putting her arm round Isabel--half caressing her, half supportingher--Lady Lydiard accepted the whole responsibility and told thewhole truth.

Reeling under the first shock, the poor girl recovered herselfwith admirable courage. She raised her head, and eyed the lawyerwithout uttering a word. In its artless consciousness ofinnocence the look was nothing less than sublime. Addressingherself to Mr. Troy, Lady Lydiard pointed to Isabel. "Do you seeguilt there?" she asked.

Mr. Troy made no answer. In the melancholy experience of humanityto which his profession condemned him, he had seen consciousguilt assume the face of innocence, and helpless innocence admitthe disguise of guilt: the keenest observation, in either case,failing completely to detect the truth. Lady Lydiardmisinterpreted his silence as expressing the sullenself-assertion of a heartless man. She turned from him, incontempt, and held out her hand to Isabel.

"Mr. Troy is not satisfied yet," she said bitterly. "My love,take my hand, and look me in the face as your equal; I know nodifference of rank at such a time as this. Before God, who hearsyou, are you innocent of the theft of the bank-note?"

"Before God, who hears me," Isabel answered, "I am innocent."

Lady Lydiard looked once more at the lawyer, and waited to hearif he believed _that_.

Mr. Troy took refuge in dumb diplomacy--he made a low bow. Itmight have meant that he believed Isabel, or it might have meantthat he modestly withdrew his own opinion into the background.Lady Lydiard did not condescend to inquire what it meant.

"The sooner we bring this painful scene to an end the better,"she said. "I shall be glad to avail myself of your professionalassistance, Mr. Troy, within certain limits. Outside of my house,I beg that you will spare no trouble in tracing the lost money tothe person who has really stolen it. Inside of my house, I mustpositively request that the disappearance of the note may neverbe alluded to, in any way whatever, until your inquiries havebeen successful in discovering the thief. In the meanwhile, Mrs.Tollmidge and her family must not be sufferers by my loss: Ishall pay the money again." She paused, and pressed Isabel's handwith affectionate fervor. "My child," she said, "one last word toyou, and I have done. You remain here, with my trust in you, andmy love for you, absolutely unshaken. When you think of what hasbeen said here to-day, never forget that."

Isabel bent her head, and kissed the kind hand that still heldhers. The high spirit that was in her, inspired by Lady Lydiard'sexample, rose equal to the dreadful situation in which she wasplaced.

"No, my Lady," she said calmly and sadly; "it cannot be. Whatthis gentleman has said of me is not to be denied--theappearances are against me. The letter was open, and I was alonein the room with it, and Mr. Moody told me that a valuableinclosure was inside it. Dear and kind mistress! I am not fit tobe a member of your household, I am not worthy to live with thehonest people who serve you, while my innocence is in doubt. Itis enough for me now that _you_ don't doubt it. I can waitpatiently, after that, for the day that gives me back my goodname. Oh, my Lady, don't cry about it! Pray, pray don't cry!"

Lady Lydiard's self-control failed her for the first time.Isabel's courage had made Isabel dearer to her than ever. Shesank into a chair, and covered her face with her handkerchief.Mr. Troy turned aside abruptly, and examined a Japanese vase,without any idea in his mind of what he was looking at. LadyLydiard had gravely misjudged him in believing him to be aheartless man.

Isabel followed the lawyer, and touched him gently on the arm torouse his attention.

"I have one relation living, sir--an aunt--who will receive me ifI go to her," she said simply. "Is there any harm in my going?Lady Lydiard will give you the address when you want me. Spareher Ladyship, sir, all the pain and trouble that you can."

At last the heart that was in Mr. Troy asserted itself. "You area fine creature!" he said, with a burst of enthusiasm. "I agreewith Lady Lydiard--I believe you are innocent, too; and I willleave no effort untried to find the proof of it." He turned asideagain, and had another look at the Japanese vase.

As the lawyer withdrew himself from observation, Moody approachedIsabel.

Thus far he had stood apart, watching her and listening to her insilence. Not a look that had crossed her face, not a word thathad fallen from her, had escaped him. Unconsciously on her side,unconsciously on his side, she now wrought on his nature with apurifying and ennobling influence which animated it with a newlife. All that had been selfish and violent in his passion forher left him to return no more. The immeasurable devotion whichhe laid at her feet, in the days that were yet to come--theunyielding courage which cheerfully accepted the sacrifice ofhimself when events demanded it at a later period of hislife--struck root in him now. Without attempting to conceal thetears that were falling fast over his cheeks--striving vainly toexpress those new thoughts in him that were beyond the reach ofwords--he stood before her the truest friend and servant thatever woman had.

"Oh, my dear! my heart is heavy for you. Take me to serve you andhelp you. Her Ladyship's kindness will permit it, I am sure."

He could say no more. In those simple words the cry of his heartreached her. "Forgive me, Robert," she answered, gratefully, "ifI said anything to pain you when we spoke together a little whilesince. I didn't mean it." She gave him her hand, and lookedtimidly over her shoulder at Lady Lydiard. "Let me go!" she said,in low, broken tones, "Let me go!"

Mr. Troy heard her, and stepped forward to interfere before LadyLydiard could speak. The man had recovered his self-control; thelawyer took his place again on the scene.

"You must not leave us, my dear," he said to Isabel, "until Ihave put a question to Mr. Moody in which you are interested. Doyou happen to have the number of the lost bank-note?" he asked,turning to the steward.

Moody produced his slip of paper with the number on it. Mr. Troymade two copies of it before he returned the paper. One copy heput in his pocket, the other he handed to Isabel.

"Keep it carefully," he said. "Neither you nor I know how soon itmay be of use to you."

Receiving the copy from him, she felt mechanically in her apronfor her pocketbook. She had used it, in playing with the dog, asan object to hide from him; but she had suffered, and was stillsuffering, too keenly to be capable of the effort of remembrance.Moody, eager to help her even in the most trifling thing, guessedwhat had happened. "You were playing with Tommie," he said; "isit in the next room?"

The dog heard his name pronounced through the open door. The nextmoment he trotted into the drawing-room with Isabel's pocketbookin his mouth. He was a strong, well-grown Scotch terrier of thelargest size, with bright, intelligent eyes, and a coat of thickcurling white hair, diversified by two light brown patches on hisback. As he reached the middle of the room, and looked from oneto another of the persons present, the fine sympathy of his racetold him that there was trouble among his human friends. His taildropped; he whined softly as he approached Isabel, and laid herpocketbook at her feet.

She knelt as she picked up the pocketbook, and raised herplayfellow of happier days to take her leave of him. As the dogput his paws on her shoulders, returning her caress, her firsttears fell. "Foolish of me," she said, faintly, "to cry over adog. I can't help it. Good-by, Tommie!"

Putting him away from her gently, she walked towards the door.The dog instantly followed. She put him away from her, for thesecond time, and left him. He was not to be denied; he followedher again, and took the skirt of her dress in his teeth, as if tohold her back. Robert forced the dog, growling and resisting withall his might, to let go of the dress. "Don't be rough with him,"said Isabel. "Put him on her ladyship's lap; he will be quieterthere." Robert obeyed. He whispered to Lady Lydiard as shereceived the dog; she seemed to be still incapable ofspeaking--she bowed her head in silent assent. Robert hurriedback to Isabel before she had passed the door. "Not alone!" hesaid entreatingly. "Her Ladyship permits it, Isabel. Let me seeyou safe to your aunt's house."

Isabel looked at him, felt for him, and yielded.

"Yes," she answered softly; "to make amends for what I said toyou when I was thoughtless and happy!" She waited a little tocompose herself before she spoke her farewell words to LadyLydiard. "Good-by, my Lady. Your kindness has not been thrownaway on an ungrateful girl. I love you, and thank you, with allmy heart."

Lady Lydiard rose, placing the dog on the chair as she left it.She seemed to have grown older by years, instead of by minutes,in the short interval that had passed since she had hidden herface from view. "I can't bear it!" she cried, in husky, brokentones. "Isabel! Isabel! I forbid you to leave me!"

But one person could venture to resist her. That person was Mr.Troy--and Mr. Troy knew it.

"Control yourself," he said to her in a whisper. "The girl isdoing what is best and most becoming in her position--and isdoing it with a patience and courage wonderful to see. Sh eplaces herself under the protection of her nearest relative,until her character is vindicated and her position in your houseis once more beyond a doubt. Is this a time to throw obstacles inher way? Be worthy of yourself, Lady Lydiard and think of the daywhen she will return to you without the breath of a suspicion torest on her!"

There was no disputing with him--he was too plainly in the right. Lady Lydiard submitted; she concealed the torture that her ownresolution inflicted on her with an endurance which was, indeed,worthy of herself. Taking Isabel in her arms she kissed her in apassion of sorrow and love. "My poor dear! My own sweet girl!don't suppose that this is a parting kiss! I shall see youagain--often and often I shall see you again at your aunt's!" Ata sign from Mr. Troy, Robert took Isabel's arm in his and led heraway. Tommie, watching her from his chair, lifted his littlewhite muzzle as his playfellow looked back on passing thedoorway. The long, melancholy, farewell howl of the dog was thelast sound Isabel Miller heard as she left the house.