per was bowled rapidly out of sight and Hinton walked on. No dust had
been thrown in his eyes as to the cause of Jasper's agitation. He had
observed the start of almost terror with which he had turned on him when
he had first mentioned the long-lost Australian uncle of Mrs. Home's. He
had often seen how uneasy he was, however cleverly he tried to hide it,
when the Homes were mentioned. What did it all mean? Hinton felt very
uncomfortable. Much as he loved Charlotte, it was not nice to marry into
a family who kept concealed an ugly secret. Hinton was more and more
convinced that there was a secret, and that this uncle who was supposed
to be dead was in some way connected with it. Hinton was too acute, too
clever, to put down Jasper's agitation to any other cause. Instantly he
began to see a reason for Mrs. Home's joy in the recovery of this
long-lost relation. It was a reason unworthy of her, unworthy and
untrue; but nevertheless it took possession of the mind of this young
man. The uncle ceased to be an object of little interest to him. He
walked on, feeling downcast and perplexed. This day week would be his
wedding-day, and Charlotte--Charlotte, beautiful and noble, nothing
should part them. But what was this secret? Could he, dare he, fathom
it? No, because of Charlotte he must not--it would break Charlotte's
heart; because of Charlotte's father he must not, for it would cause his
death; and yet, because of Jasper, he longed to, for he owned to himself
that he disliked Jasper more and more.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE READING OF THE WILL.

Charlotte's depression did not remain with her all through the day. She
was a healthy creature, healthy both in body and mind. It was impossible
for her, with the bright spring sun shining, and with her wedding-day
but one week absent, not to turn again to hope. She saw that she had
vexed Hinton. She still felt that queer and uncomfortable desire to be
at Somerset House, just at the very hour when her lover had pleaded for
her society. But she reflected that when she told him the story, when
she proudly cleared her father in his eyes, he would most abundantly
forgive her.

"He hates secrets," she said to herself; "and it is the last, the very
last, little, tiny secret I shall ever have from my darling."

By this it will be seen that she had ceased to fear her grandfather's
will. She had ordered the carriage immediately after lunch, and now
asked the coachman to drive to the S