."

Lord Hartledon stared at her, as well he might; and gulped down his
breath, which seemed choking him. "But what about Gorton? Why do you ask
me the question?"

"Because I fancy he is connected with this trouble. I--I thought I heard
you and Mr. Carr mention the name yesterday when you were whispering
together. I'm sure I did--there!"

As far as Lord Hartledon remembered, he and Mr. Carr had not been
whispering together yesterday; had not mentioned the name of Gorton.
They had done with the subject at that late sitting, the night of the
barrister's arrival; who had brought news that the Gorton, that morning
tried for a great crime, was _not_ the Gorton of whom they were in
search. Lord Hartledon gazed at his wife with questioning eyes, but she
persisted in her assertion. It was sinfully untrue; but how else could
she account for knowing the name?

"Do you suppose I dreamed it, Lord Hartledon?"

"I don't know whether you dreamed it or not, Maude. Mr. Carr has
certainly spoken to me since he came of a man of that name; but as
certainly not in your hearing. One Gorton was tried for his life on
Friday--or almost for his life--and he mentioned to me the circumstances
of the case: housebreaking, accompanied by violence, which ended in
death. I cannot understand you, Maude, or the fancies you seem to be
taking up."

She saw how it was--he would admit nothing: and she looked straight out
across the dreary park, a certain obstinate defiance veiled in her eyes.
By the help of Heaven or earth, she would find out this secret that he
refused to disclose to her.

"Almost every action of your life bespeaks concealment," she resumed.
"Look at those letters you received in your dressing-room on Friday
night: you just opened them and thrust them unread into your pocket,
because I happened to be there. And yet you talk of caring for me! I know
those letters contained some secret or other you dare not tell me."

She rose in some temper, and gave the fire a fierce stir.

Lord Hartledon kept her by him.

"One of those letters was from Mr. Carr; and I presume you can make no
objection to my hearing from him. The other--Maude, I have waited until
now to disclose its contents to you; I would not mar your happiness
yesterday."

She looked up at him. Something in his voice, a sad pitying tenderness,
caused her heart to beat a shade quicker. "It was a foreign letter,
Maude. I think you observed that. It bore the French postmark."