her levity, as this gentleman was his most trusted
adviser, inherited with his title and estates. The Earldom of Ancester
had always been in the habit of consulting Mr. Hawtrey about all sorts
of things, not necessarily legal.

So when Gwen was sent for to her father's sanctum, and went, she was not
surprised to hear that he had given Mr. Hawtrey all the particulars she
had told him of Mrs. Prichard's history, and a clear outline of the
incidents up to that date, ending with the seeming insanity of the old
lady. "But," said the Earl, who appeared very serious, "I have given no
names. I have sent for you now, Gwen, to get your consent to my making
no reserves with Mr. Hawtrey, in whose advice I have great confidence."
Mr. Hawtrey acknowledged this testimony, and Gwen acknowledged that
gentleman's desert; each by a bow, but Gwen's was the more flexible
performance.

She just hung back perceptibly over giving the _carte blanche_ asked
for. "I suppose no harm can come of it--to anybody?" said she. None
whatever, apparently; so she assented.

"Very good," said the Earl. "And now, my dear, I want you, before I show
it to Mr. Hawtrey, to read this letter, which I have opened on my own
responsibility--nobody to blame but me! I found it among your old lady's
letters you gave me to take care of."

"Oh dear!" said Gwen.

"I shall not show it to Mr. Hawtrey, unless you like. Take it and read
it. No hurry." Gwen was conscious that the solicitor sat as still as his
prototype Thothmes at the British Museum, and with as immovable a
countenance.

She took the letter, glancing at the cover. "Who is Mrs. Thornton
Daverill?" said she, quite in the dark.

"Go on and read," said the Earl.

Gwen read half to herself:--"'My dear daughter Maisie,'" and then said
aloud:--"But that is Mrs. Prichard's name!"

"Read through to the end," said the Earl. And Gwen, with a painful
feeling of bewilderment, obeyed orders, puzzling over phrases and
sentences to find the thing she was to read for, and staggered a moment
by the name "Cropredy," which she thought she must have misread. There
was no clue in the letter itself, as she did not know who "Phoebe" and
"Ruth" were.

Her father's observation of her face quickened as she visibly neared the
end. She was quite taken aback by the signature, the moment it caught
her eye. "Isaac Runciman!" she exclaimed. "Why--that's--that's ..."

"That's the name of Mrs. Marrable's father that old Mrs. Pricha