lity of his sister being
Manston's wife, and the recollection taught him to avoid any rashness in
his proceedings which might lead to bitterness hereafter.

Entering the room, he found Manston sitting in the chair which had been
occupied by Cytherea on Edward's visit, three hours earlier. Before Owen
had spoken, Manston arose, and stepping past him closed the door. His
face appeared harassed--much more troubled than the slight circumstance
which had as yet come to his knowledge seemed to account for.

Manston could form no reason for Owen's presence, but intuitively linked
it with Cytherea's seclusion. 'Altogether this is most unseemly,' he
said, 'whatever it may mean.'

'Don't think there is meant anything unfriendly by my coming here,' said
Owen earnestly; 'but listen to this, and think if I could do otherwise
than come.'

He took from his pocket the confession of Chinney the porter, as hastily
written out by the vicar, and read it aloud. The aspects of Manston's
face whilst he listened to the opening words were strange, dark, and
mysterious enough to have justified suspicions that no deceit could
be too complicated for the possessor of such impulses, had there not
overridden them all, as the reading went on, a new and irrepressible
expression--one unmistakably honest. It was that of unqualified
amazement in the steward's mind at the news he heard. Owen looked up
and saw it. The sight only confirmed him in the belief he had held
throughout, in antagonism to Edward's suspicions.

There could no longer be a shadow of doubt that if the first Mrs.
Manston lived, her husband was ignorant of the fact. What he could have
feared by his ghastly look at first, and now have ceased to fear, it was
quite futile to conjecture.

'Now I do not for a moment doubt your complete ignorance of the whole
matter; you cannot suppose for an instant that I do,' said Owen when he
had finished reading. 'But is it not best for both that Cytherea should
come back with me till the matter is cleared up? In fact, under the
circumstances, no other course is left open to me than to request it.'

Whatever Manston's original feelings had been, all in him now gave way
to irritation, and irritation to rage. He paced up and down the room
till he had mastered it; then said in ordinary tones--

'Certainly, I know no more than you and others know--it was a gratuitous
unpleasantness in you to say you did not doubt me. Why should you, or
anybody, have d