I am heart-broken at
leaving it." I was reckless enough to ask why. His head sank. "I daren't
tell you," he said. I went on from one imprudence to another. "What are
you afraid of?" I asked. He suddenly looked up at me. His eyes answered:
_"You."_

Is it possible to fathom the folly of a woman in love? Can any sensible
person imagine the enormous importance which the veriest trifles assume
in her poor little mind? I was perfectly satisfied--even perfectly
happy, after that one look. I rode on briskly for a minute or two--then
the forgotten scene at the stable recurred to my memory. I resumed a
foot-pace and beckoned to him to speak to me.

"Lady Claudia's bookseller lives in the City, doesn't he?" I began.

"Yes, miss."

"Did you walk both ways?"

"Yes."

"You must have felt tired when you got back?"

"I hardly remember what I felt when I got back--I was met by a
surprise."

"May I ask what it was?"

"Certainly, miss. Do you remember a black bag of mine?"

"Perfectly."

"When I returned from the City I found the bag open; and the things I
kept in it--the shawl, the linen, and the letter--"

"Gone?"

"Gone."

My heart gave one great leap in me, and broke into vehement throbbings,
which made it impossible for me to say a word more. I reined up my
horse, and fixed my eyes on Michael. He was startled; he asked if I felt
faint. I could only sign to him that I was waiting to hear more.

"My own belief," he proceeded, "is that some person burned the things in
my absence, and opened the window to prevent any suspicion being excited
by the smell. I am certain I shut the window before I left my room. When
I closed it on my return, the fresh air had not entirely removed the
smell of burning; and, what is more, I found a heap of ashes in the
grate. As to the person who has done me this injury, and why it has
been done, those are mysteries beyond my fathoming--I beg your pardon,
miss--I am sure you are not well. Might I advise you to return to the
house?"

I accepted his advice and turned back.

In the tumult of horror and amazement that filled my mind, I could
still feel a faint triumph stirring in me through it all, when I saw how
alarmed and how anxious he was about me. Nothing more passed between
us on the way back. Confronted by the dreadful discovery that I had now
made, I was silent and helpless. Of the guilty persons concerned in
the concealment of the birth, and in the desertion of the infant, my
no