of you and Mr. John Zant than I know now," he said.
"My motive is a better one than mere curiosity. Do you believe that I
feel a sincere interest in you?"

"With my whole heart."

That reply encouraged him to proceed with what he had to say. "When
you recovered from your fainting-fit," he began, "Mr. John Zant asked
questions, of course?"

"He asked what could possibly have happened, in such a quiet place as
Kensington Gardens, to make me faint."

"And how did you answer?"

"Answer? I couldn't even look at him!"

"You said nothing?"

"Nothing. I don't know what he thought of me; he might have been
surprised, or he might have been offended."

"Is he easily offended?" Mr. Rayburn asked.

"Not in my experience of him."

"Do you mean your experience of him before your illness?"

"Yes. Since my recovery, his engagements with country patients have kept
him away from London. I have not seen him since he took these lodgings
for me. But he is always considerate. He has written more than once to
beg that I will not think him neglectful, and to tell me (what I knew
already through my poor husband) that he has no money of his own, and
must live by his profession."

"In your husband's lifetime, were the two brothers on good terms?"

"Always. The one complaint I ever heard my husband make of John Zant was
that he didn't come to see us often enough, after our marriage. Is there
some wickedness in him which we have never suspected? It may be--but
_how_ can it be? I have every reason to be grateful to the man against
whom I have been supernaturally warned! His conduct to me has been
always perfect. I can't tell you what I owe to his influence in quieting
my mind, when a dreadful doubt arose about my husband's death."

"Do you mean doubt if he died a natural death?"

"Oh, no! no! He was dying of rapid consumption--but his sudden death
took the doctors by surprise. One of them thought that he might have
taken an overdose of his sleeping drops, by mistake. The other disputed
this conclusion, or there might have been an inquest in the house. Oh,
don't speak of it any more! Let us talk of something else. Tell me when
I shall see you again."

"I hardly know. When do you and your brother-in-law leave London?"

"To-morrow." She looked at Mr. Rayburn with a piteous entreaty in her
eyes; she said, timidly: "Do you ever go to the seaside, and take your
dear little girl with you?"

The request, at which she had only dared to