rt; then she looked up at me,
saying soberly:

"It is one of the things that I shouldn't talk about. Still--I don't
know," she faltered. "It is Burke alone who has roused her
resentment." Then she decided.

"I will tell you this much: She overheard a conversation between him
and her father. It filled her with loathing for the fellow--that
and--and something else."

"I shall not try to force your confidence, my dear girl," I said.
"Tell me only what you think you ought."

"Belle trusts me implicitly," she said simply.

"And I want her to continue to. The something else that makes her
loathe him--are you free to speak of that?"

"It's nothing; it's ridiculous." She laughed nervously. "He has tried
to make love to her. _Ugh!_" She shuddered at the idea.

"The dickens he has!"

Such a thought had never entered my head; it was impossible to imagine
that slippery rascal in the role of an ardent lover. His blood was as
cold as a fish's. But now I understood the fellow's animus toward
Maillot; his hatred was inspired by jealousy. Belle had never spoken
of the matter to Maillot--mortification was potent to hold this
confidence in check--but he had instinctively distrusted and disliked
Burke in return.

I could not bring myself to confide in my lovely coadjutor my
convictions respecting her uncle. I learned that he had left the house
that morning at an hour unusually early for him, and I thought at once
of the queer memorandum on his calendar. He was still very much
worried, declared Genevieve, and when at home kept more and more to
himself as time went by. Mrs. Fluette was asleep after the night's
ordeal with her daughter.

"If Royal were free to come after her," said Genevieve, not without
some bitterness, "he could carry Belle away this very minute; there
would be nobody to say him nay. Poor boy!"

"It is more than likely that he shall soon," I offered in dubious
comfort. And then we got down to the purpose of my call.

"Do you know where your aunt and uncle were married?" I asked.

"Yes. It was in a little town in Ohio--"

"Merton," said I.

"That's it! But how did you know?"

I smiled at her surprise. "It's Felix Page's birth-place; the rest was
inference."

She waited with ill-concealed curiosity for what was to follow. I
found it necessary to hold her hands--both of them--while I told her.

"Would you mind making a journey there?--at once--to-day?"

Her eyes opened wide; even