should be, I think, no delay."

But though he spoke to Anne, it was Miss Lois who answered: it would
have been simply impossible for her not to take that narrative into her
own hands.

He listened to the tale with careful attention, not interrupting her
many details with so much as a smile or a shrug. This was very unlike
his old way with Miss Lois, and showed more than anything else could
have done his absorbed interest in the story.

"It is the old truth," he said, after the long stream of words had
finally ceased. "Regarding the unravelling of mysteries, women seem
sometimes endowed with a sixth sense. A diamond is lost on a turnpike. A
man goes along the turnpike searching for it. A woman, searching for it
also, turns vaguely off into a field, giving no logical reason for her
course, and--finds it."

But while he talked, his mind was in reality dwelling upon the pale girl
beside him, the young girl in whom he had felt such strong interest, for
whom he had involuntarily cherished such high hope in those early days
on the island.

He knew of her testimony at the trial; he had not been surprised. What
he had prophesied for her had come indeed. But not so fortunately or so
happily as he had hoped. He had saved her from Erastus Pronando for
this! Was it well done? He roused himself at last, perceiving that Anne
was noticing his abstraction; her eyes were fixed upon him with anxious
expectation.

"I must go to work in my own way," he said, stroking her hair. "One
point, however, I have already decided: _you_ must leave this
neighborhood immediately. I wish you had never come."

"But she can not be separated from me," said Miss Lois; "and of course
_I_ shall be necessary in the search--_I_ must be here."

"I do not see that there is any necessity at present," replied Pere
Michaux. "You have done all you could, and I shall work better, I think,
alone." Then, as the old quick anger flashed from her eyes, he turned to
Anne. "It is on your account, child," he said. "I must _make_ you go. I
know it is like taking your life from you to send you away now. But if
anything comes of this--if your woman's blind leap into the dark proves
to have been guided by intuition, the lime-light of publicity will
instantly be turned upon this neighborhood, and you could not escape
discovery. Your precautions, or rather those of our good friend Miss
Lois, have availed so far: you can still depart in their shadow
unobserved. Do so, then