of us could
discover--for the report of her daughter having been seen in this
neighbourhood."

"I am rather interested about Mrs. Catherick," I went on, continuing
the conversation as long as possible. "I wish I had arrived here soon
enough to see her yesterday. Did she stay for any length of time?"

"Yes," said the housekeeper, "she stayed for some time; and I think she
would have remained longer, if I had not been called away to speak to a
strange gentleman--a gentleman who came to ask when Sir Percival was
expected back. Mrs. Catherick got up and left at once, when she heard
the maid tell me what the visitor's errand was. She said to me, at
parting, that there was no need to tell Sir Percival of her coming
here. I thought that rather an odd remark to make, especially to a
person in my responsible situation."

I thought it an odd remark too. Sir Percival had certainly led me to
believe, at Limmeridge, that the most perfect confidence existed
between himself and Mrs. Catherick. If that was the case, why should
she be anxious to have her visit at Blackwater Park kept a secret from
him?

"Probably," I said, seeing that the housekeeper expected me to give my
opinion on Mrs. Catherick's parting words, "probably she thought the
announcement of her visit might vex Sir Percival to no purpose, by
reminding him that her lost daughter was not found yet. Did she talk
much on that subject?"

"Very little," replied the housekeeper. "She talked principally of Sir
Percival, and asked a great many questions about where he had been
travelling, and what sort of lady his new wife was. She seemed to be
more soured and put out than distressed, by failing to find any traces
of her daughter in these parts. 'I give her up,' were the last words
she said that I can remember; 'I give her up, ma'am, for lost.' And
from that she passed at once to her questions about Lady Glyde, wanting
to know if she was a handsome, amiable lady, comely and healthy and
young----Ah, dear! I thought how it would end. Look, Miss Halcombe,
the poor thing is out of its misery at last!"

The dog was dead. It had given a faint, sobbing cry, it had suffered
an instant's convulsion of the limbs, just as those last words, "comely
and healthy and young," dropped from the housekeeper's lips. The
change had happened with startling suddenness--in one moment the
creature lay lifeless under our hands.

Eight o'clock. I have just returned from dining downs