question."

Beginning at last to understand her insinuations, Mary was so angry
that she dared not speak.

"But it will hardly go to clear you," Sepia went on. "Don't imagine I
mean you have taken it; I am only warning you how the matter will look,
that you may be prepared. Mr. Redmain is one to believe the worst
things of the best people."

"I am obliged to you," said Mary, "but I am not anxious."

"It is necessary you should know also," continued Sepia, "that there is
some suspicion attaching to a female friend of yours as well, a young
woman who used to visit you--the wife of the other, it is supposed. She
was here, I remember, one night there was a party; I saw you together
in my cousin's bedroom. She had just dressed and gone down."

"I remember," said Mary. "It was Mrs. Helmer."

"Well?"

"It is very unfortunate, certainly; but the truth must be told: a few
days before you left, one of the servants, hearing some one in the
house in the middle of the night, got up and went down, but only in
time to hear the front door open and shut. In the morning a hat was
found in the drawing-room, with the name _Thomas Helmer_ in it: that is
the name of your friend's husband, I believe?"

"I am aware Mr. Helmer was a frequent visitor," said Mary, trying to
keep cool for what was to come.

This that Sepia told her was true enough, though she was not accurate
as to the time of its occurrence. I will relate briefly how it came
about.

Upon a certain evening, a few days before Mary's return from Cornwall,
Tom would have gone to see Miss Yolland had he not known that she meant
to go to the play with a Mr. Emmet, a cousin of the Redmains. Before
the hour arrived, however, Count Galofta called, and Sepia went out
with him, telling the man who opened the door to ask Mr. Emmet to wait.
The man was rather deaf, and did not catch with certainty the name she
gave. Mr. Emmet did not appear, and it was late before Sepia returned.

Tom, jealous even to hatred, spent the greater part of his evening in a
tavern on the borders of the city--in gloomy solitude, drinking
brandy-and-water, and building castles of the most foolish type--for
castles are as different as the men that build them. Through all the
rooms of them glided the form of Sepia, his evil genius. He grew more
and more excited as he built, and as he drank. He rose at last, paid
his bill, and, a little suspicious of his equilibrium, stalked into the
street. There, almost