wever, when the church-bells began, she was turning round in her
warm bed for another nap.

Maude did not go down early; had not yet taken to doing so. She
breakfasted in her room, remained toying with her baby for some time,
and then went into her own sitting-room; a small cosy apartment on the
drawing-room floor, into which visitors did not intrude. It looked on to
Hyde Park, and a very white and dreary park it was on that particular
day.

Drawing a chair to the window, she sat looking out. That is, her eyes
were given to the outer world, but she was so deep in thought as to see
nothing of it. For two nights and a day, burning with curiosity, she had
been putting this and that together in her own mind, and drawing
conclusions according to her own light. First, there was the advent of
the visitor; secondly, there was the letter she had dipped into. She
connected the two with each other and wondered WHAT the secret care could
be that had such telling effect upon her husband.

Gorton. The name had struck upon her memory, even whilst she read it, as
one associated with that terrible time--the late Lord Hartledon's death.
Gradually the floodgates of recollection opened, and she knew him for the
witness at the inquest about whom some speculation had arisen as to who
he was, and what his business at Calne might have been with Lord
Hartledon and his brother, Val Elster.

Why should her husband be afraid of this man?--as it seemed he _was_
afraid, by Mr. Carr's letter. What power had he of injuring Lord
Hartledon?--what secret did he possess of his, that might be used against
him? Turning it about in her mind, and turning it again, searching her
imagination for a solution, Lady Hartledon at length arrived at one, in
default of others. She thought this man must know some untoward fact
by which the present Lord Hartledon's succession was imperilled. Possibly
the late Lord Hartledon had made some covert and degrading marriage;
leaving an obscure child who possessed legal rights, and might yet claim
them. A romantic, far-fetched idea, you will say; but she could think of
no other that was in the least feasible. And she remembered some faint
idea having arisen in her mind at the time, that the visit of the man
Gorton was in some way connected with trouble, though she did not know
with which brother.

Val came in and shut the door. He stirred the fire into a blaze, making
some remark about the snow, and wondering how Carr would