do you wish to ask?" she finished, with a
burning blush.

Mr. Moffat was equal to the appeal.

"Did anything happen? Did Mr. Ranelagh speak to you or you to him, or did
your sister Adelaide speak?"

"No one spoke; but Mr. Ranelagh put a little slip of paper into my
hand--a--a note. As he did this, my brother looked round. I don't know
whether he saw the note or not; but his eye caught mine, and I may have
blushed. Next moment he was looking past me; and presently he had flung
himself out of the room, and I heard him going upstairs. Adelaide had
joined me by this time, and Mr. Ranelagh turned to speak to her, and--and
I went over to the book-shelves to read my note."

"And did you read it then?"

"No, I was afraid. I waited till Mr. Ranelagh was gone; then I went up to
my room and read it. It was not a--a note to be glad of. I mean, proud
of. I'm afraid I was a little glad of it at first. I was a wicked girl."

Mr. Moffat glanced at Mr. Fox; but that gentleman, passing over this
artless expression of feeling, as unworthy an objection, he went
steadily on:

"Miss Cumberland, before you tell us about this note, will you be good
enough to inform us whether any words passed between you and your sister
before you went upstairs?"

"Oh, yes; we talked. We all three talked, but it was about indifferent
matters. The servants were going to a ball, and we spoke of that. Mr.
Ranelagh did not stay long. Very soon he remarked that he had a busy
evening before him, and took his leave. I was not in the room with them
when he did this. I was in the adjoining one, but I heard his remark and
saw him go. I did not wait to talk to Adelaide."

"Now, about the note?"

"I read it as soon as I reached my room. Then I sat still for a
long time."

"Miss Cumberland, pardon my request, but will you tell us what was in
that note?"

She lifted her patient eyes, and looked straight at her brother. He did
not meet her gaze; but the dull flush which lit up the dead-white of his
cheek showed how he suffered under this ordeal. At me she never glanced;
this was the only mercy shown me that dreadful morning. I grew to be
thankful for it as she went on.

"I do not remember the words," she said, finally, as her eyes fell again
to her lap. "But I remember its meaning. It was an invitation for me to
leave town with him that very evening and be married at some place he
mentioned. He said it would be the best way to--to end--matters."

This bro