without some sort of reconcilement
between them, I stepped forward, and, bowing to Mary, said:

"Your cousin has just succeeded in convincing me of her entire
innocence, Miss Leavenworth. I am now ready to join Mr. Gryce, heart and
soul, in finding out the true culprit."

"I should have thought one look into Eleanore Leavenworth's face would
have been enough to satisfy you that she is incapable of crime," was
her unexpected answer; and, lifting her head with a proud gesture, Mary
Leavenworth fixed her eyes steadfastly on mine.

I felt the blood flash to my brow, but before I could speak, her voice
rose again still more coldly than before.

"It is hard for a delicate girl, unused to aught but the most flattering
expressions of regard, to be obliged to assure the world of her
innocence in respect to the committal of a great crime. Eleanore has
my sympathy." And sweeping her cloak from her shoulders with a quick
gesture, she turned her gaze for the first time upon her cousin.

Instantly Eleanore advanced, as if to meet it; and I could not but feel
that, for some reason, this moment possessed an importance for them
which I was scarcely competent to measure. But if I found myself unable
to realize its significance, I at least responded to its intensity. And
indeed it was an occasion to remember. To behold two such women, either
of whom might be considered the model of her time, face to face
and drawn up in evident antagonism, was a sight to move the dullest
sensibilities. But there was something more in this scene than that. It
was the shock of all the most passionate emotions of the human soul;
the meeting of waters of whose depth and force I could only guess by the
effect. Eleanore was the first to recover. Drawing back with the cold
haughtiness which, alas, I had almost forgotten in the display of later
and softer emotions, she exclaimed:

"There is something better than sympathy, and that is justice"; and
turned, as if to go. "I will confer with you in the reception room, Mr.
Raymond."

But Mary, springing forward, caught her back with one powerful hand.
"No," she cried, "you shall confer with _me!_ I have something to say to
you, Eleanore Leavenworth." And, taking her stand in the centre of the
room, she waited.

I glanced at Eleanore, saw this was no place for me, and hastily
withdrew. For ten long minutes I paced the floor of the reception room,
a prey to a thousand doubts and conjectures. What was the secret