ly had now made, with a face which never changed color, and a heart
which beat at ease. Was the deception that had won this cruel victory
over truth destined still to triumph in the days which were to come?
Yes--if the life of earth is a foretaste of the life of hell. No--if a
lie _is_ a lie, be the merciful motive for the falsehood what it may.
No--if all deceit contains in it the seed of retribution, to be ripened
inexorably in the lapse of time.

CHAPTER XXVI. MOTHER EVE.

The servant received Emily, on her return from the library, with a sly
smile. "Here he is again, miss, waiting to see you."

She opened the parlor door, and revealed Alban Morris, as restless as
ever, walking up and down the room.

"When I missed you at the Museum, I was afraid you might be ill," he
said. "Ought I to have gone away, when my anxiety was relieved? Shall I
go away now?"

"You must take a chair, Mr. Morris, and hear what I have to say for
myself. When you left me after your last visit, I suppose I felt the
force of example. At any rate I, like you, had my suspicions. I have
been trying to confirm them--and I have failed."

He paused, with the chair in his hand. "Suspicions of Me?" he asked.

"Certainly! Can you guess how I have been employed for the last two
days? No--not even your ingenuity can do that. I have been hard at work,
in another reading-room, consulting the same back numbers of the same
newspaper, which you have been examining at the British Museum. There is
my confession--and now we will have some tea."

She moved to the fireplace, to ring the bell, and failed to see the
effect produced on Alban by those lightly-uttered words. The common
phrase is the only phrase that can describe it. He was thunderstruck.

"Yes," she resumed, "I have read the report of the inquest. If I know
nothing else, I know that the murder at Zeeland can't be the discovery
which you are bent on keeping from me. Don't be alarmed for the
preservation of your secret! I am too much discouraged to try again."

The servant interrupted them by answering the bell; Alban once more
escaped detection. Emily gave her orders with an approach to the old
gayety of her school days. "Tea, as soon as possible--and let us have
the new cake. Are you too much of a man, Mr. Morris, to like cake?"

In this state of agitation, he was unreasonably irritated by that
playful question. "There is one thing I like better than cake," he said;
"and that one thing