with his wife, an unexpected
visitor came to the house. Olivier Dalibard called. He had not seen
Lucretia since she had left Laughton, nor had any correspondence passed
between them. He came at dusk, just after Mainwaring's daily visit was
over, and Lucretia was still in the parlour, which she had appropriated
to herself. Her brow contracted as his name was announced, and the
maid-servant lighted the candle on the table, stirred the fire, and gave
a tug at the curtains. Her eye, glancing from his, round the mean room,
with its dingy horsehair furniture, involuntarily implied the contrast
between the past state and the present, which his sight could scarcely
help to impress on her. But she welcomed him with her usual stately
composure, and without reference to what had been. Dalibard was secretly
anxious to discover if she suspected himself of any agency in the
detection of the eventful letter; and assured by her manner that no
such thought was yet harboured, he thought it best to imitate her own
reserve. He assumed, however, a manner that, far more respectful than
he ever before observed to his pupil, was nevertheless sufficiently kind
and familiar to restore them gradually to their old footing; and that
he succeeded was apparent, when, after a pause, Lucretia said abruptly:
"How did Sir Miles St. John discover my correspondence with Mr.
Mainwaring?"

"Is it possible that you are ignorant? Ah, how--how should you know it?"
And Dalibard so simply explained the occurrence, in which, indeed, it
was impossible to trace the hand that had moved springs which seemed
so entirely set at work by an accident, that despite the extreme
suspiciousness of her nature, Lucretia did not see a pretence for
accusing him. Indeed, when he related the little subterfuge of Gabriel,
his attempt to save her by taking the letter on himself, she felt
thankful to the boy, and deemed Gabriel's conduct quite in keeping with
his attachment to herself. And this accounted satisfactorily for the
only circumstance that had ever troubled her with a doubt,--namely, the
legacy left to Gabriel. She knew enough of Sir Miles to be aware that he
would be grateful to any one who had saved the name of his niece,
even while most embittered against her, from the shame attached to
clandestine correspondence.

"It is strange, nevertheless," said she, thoughtfully, after a pause,
"that the girl should have detected the letter, concealed as it was by
the leaves that