mple means."

"Then why don't you ask for her help?"

"My dear Ware, I married Mrs. Morley because I loved her, and not for
her money. All her property is settled on herself, and I have not
touched one shilling of it. She would willingly help me, but I have
refused."

"Isn't that rather quixotic on your part?"

"Perhaps," responded Morley, with some dryness; "but it is my nature.
However, I see that I am tiring you. I only came to tell you of this
irony of fate, whereby Daisy inherited a fortune too late to benefit by
it. I must go now. My wife expects me back in Brighton to-morrow."

"When do you return to The Elms?"

"In a month. And what are your movements?"

Ware thought for a few minutes before he answered. At length he spoke
seriously.

"Morley, I know you are prejudiced against Miss Denham."

"I think she is guilty, if that is what you mean, Ware."

"And I say that she is innocent. I intend to devote myself to finding
her and to clearing up this mystery."

"Well, I wish you good luck," said Morley, moving towards the door; "but
don't tell me when you find Miss Denham. If I come across her I'll have
her arrested."

"That's plain enough. Well, since you are her declared enemy, I shall
keep my own counsel." He raised himself on his elbow. "But I tell you,
Morley, that I shall find her. I shall prove her innocence, and I shall
make her my wife."

Morley opened the door.

"The age of miracles is past," he said. "When you are more yourself, you
will be wiser. Good-bye, and a speedy recovery."

As the visitor departed Trim entered with the letters. He was not at all
pleased to find Giles so flushed, and refused to hand over the
correspondence. Only when Ware began to grow seriously angry did Trim
give way. He went grumbling out of the room as Giles opened his letters.
The first two were from friends in town asking after his health; the
third had a French stamp and the Paris postmark. Ware opened it
listlessly. He then uttered an exclamation. On a sheet of thin foreign
paper was the drawing in pencil of a half-sovereign of Edward VII., and
thereon three circles placed in a triangle, marked respectively "A,"
"D," and "P." Below, in a handwriting he knew only too well, was written
the one word "Innocent."

"Anne, Anne!" cried Ware, passionately kissing the letter, "as though I
needed you to tell me that!"

And it was not till an hour later that he suddenly remembered what a
narrow escape he had had f