so
dizzy that she could, for a while, hardly decipher the letters. Stifling
recollection by an effort she nerved herself to her work, and carefully
read the column. The account reminded her of no other fact than was
remembered already.

She turned on to the following week's report of the inquest. After a
miserable perusal she could find no more pertaining to Mrs. Manston's
address than this:--

'ABRAHAM BROWN, of Hoxton, London, at whose house the deceased woman had
been living, deposed,' etc.

Nobody else from London had attended the inquest. She arose to depart,
first sending a message of thanks to Mr. Raunham, who was out of doors
gardening.

He stuck his spade into the ground, and accompanied her to the gate.

'Can I help you in anything, Cytherea?' he said, using her Christian
name by an intuition that unpleasant memories might be revived if he
called her Miss Graye after wishing her good-bye as Mrs. Manston at
the wedding. Cytherea saw the motive and appreciated it, nevertheless
replying evasively--

'I only guess and fear.'

He earnestly looked at her again.

'Promise me that if you want assistance, and you think I can give it,
you will come to me.'

'I will,' she said.

The gate closed between them.

'You don't want me to help you in anything now, Cytherea?' he repeated.

If he had spoken what he felt, 'I want very much to help you, Cytherea,
and have been watching Manston on your account,' she would gladly have
accepted his offer. As it was, she was perplexed, and raised her eyes to
his, not so fearlessly as before her trouble, but as modestly, and with
still enough brightness in them to do fearful execution as she said over
the gate--

'No, thank you.'

She returned to Tolchurch weary with her day's work. Owen's greeting was
anxious--

'Well, Cytherea?'

She gave him the words from the report of the inquest, pencilled on a
slip of paper.

'Now to find out the name of the street and number,' Owen remarked.

'Owen,' she said, 'will you forgive me for what I am going to say? I
don't think I can--indeed I don't think I can--take any further steps
towards disentangling the mystery. I still think it a useless task, and
it does not seem any duty of mine to be revenged upon Mr. Manston in any
way.' She added more gravely, 'It is beneath my dignity as a woman to
labour for this; I have felt it so all day.'

'Very well,' he said, somewhat shortly; 'I shall work without you then.
There's dign