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d admired; was instantly conscious of the sheer pleasure of her beauty. But it was the pleasure of an artist, an elder brother--a father even. Her mother was in his mind, and the strong affection he had begun to feel for his ward was shot through and through by the older tenderness. "Sit there, dear," he said, pushing forward a chair. "Has Geoffrey told you anything?" "No. He said you wanted to tell me something yourself, and he would speak to the others." She was very pale, and the hand he touched was cold. But she was perfectly self-possessed. He sat down in front of her collecting his thoughts. "Something has happened, Helena, to-day--this very evening--which must--I fear--alter all your plans and mine. The poor woman whom Geoffrey saw in the wood, whose bag you found, was just able to make her escape, when you and Geoffrey landed. She wandered about the rest of the night, and in the early morning she asked for shelter--being evidently ill--at the Rectory, but it was not till this evening that she made a statement which induced them to send for me. Helena!--what did your mother ever tell you about my marriage?" "She told me very little--only that you had married someone abroad--when you were studying in Paris--and that she was dead." Buntingford covered his eyes with his hand. "I told your mother, Helena, all I knew. I concealed nothing from her--both what I knew--and what I didn't know." He paused, to take from his pocket a small leather case and to extract from it a newspaper cutting. He handed it to her. It was from the first column of the _Times_, was dated 1907, and contained the words:--"On July 19th at Lyons, France, Anna, wife of Philip Bliss, aged 28." Helena read it, and looked up. Buntingford anticipated the words that were on her lips. "Wait a moment!--let me go on. I read that announcement in the _Times_, Helena, three years after my wife had deserted me. I had spent those three years, first in recovering from a bad accident, and then in wandering about trying to trace her. Naturally, I went off to Lyons at once, and could discover--nothing! The police there did all they could to help me--our own Embassy in Paris got at the Ministry of the Interior--useless! I recovered the original notice and envelope from the _Times_. Both were typewritten, and the Lyons postmark told us no more than the notice had already told. I could only carry on my search, and for some years afterwards, ev
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