," said Bertha. "Will you wait for me, or come
in?"

Rosamund followed her friend into the shop. Absorbed in thought, she
scarcely raised her eyes, until a voice from behind the counter replied
to Bertha's "Good-morning"; then, suddenly looking up, she saw that
which held her motionless. For a moment she gazed like a startled deer;
the next her eyes fell, her face turned away; she fled out into the
street.

And there Bertha found her, a few yards from the shop.

"Why did you run away?"

Rosamund had a dazed look.

"Who was that behind the counter?" she asked, under her breath.

"Mr. Jollyman. Why?"

The other walked on. Bertha kept at her side.

"What's the matter?"

"Bertha--Mr. Jollyman is Mr. Warburton."

"Nonsense!"

"But he _is_! Here's the explanation--here's the mystery. A grocer--in
an apron!"

Bertha was standing still. She, too, looked astonished, perplexed.

"Isn't it a case of extraordinary likeness?" she asked, with a grave
smile.

"Oh, dear, no! I met his eye--he showed that he knew me--and then his
voice. A grocer--in an apron?"

"This is very shocking," said Bertha, with a recovery of her natural
humour. "Let us walk. Let us shake off the nightmare."

The word applied very well to Rosamund's condition; her fixed eyes were
like those of a somnambulist.

"But, Bertha!" she suddenly exclaimed, in a voice of almost petulant
protest. "He knew you all the time--oh, but perhaps he did not know
your name?"

"Indeed he did. He's constantly sending things to the house."

"How extraordinary! Did you ever hear such an astonishing thing in your
life?"

"You said more than once," remarked Bertha, "that Mr. Warburton was a
man of mystery."

"Oh, but how _could_ I have imagined--! grocer!"

"In an apron!" added the other, with awed voice.

"But, Bertha, does Norbert know? He declared he had never found out
what Mr. Warburton did. Was that true, or not?"

"Ah, that's the question. If poor Mr. Franks has had this secret upon
his soul! I can hardly believe it. And yet--they are such intimate
friends."

"He must have known it," declared Rosamund.

Thereupon she became mute, and only a syllable of dismay escaped her
now and then during the rest of the walk to the Crosses' house. Her
companion, too, was absorbed in thought. At the door Rosamund offered
her hand. No, she would not come in; she had work which must positively
be finished this afternoon whilst daylight lasted.

Out of the by