.
Raunham, yet it would be unwise for them to call on him together, in the
sight of all the servants and parish of Carriford.

There could be no objection to their writing him a letter.

No sooner was the thought born than it was carried out. They wrote to
him at once, asking him to have the goodness to give them some advice
they sadly needed, and begging that he would accept their assurance
that there was a real justification for the additional request they
made--that instead of their calling upon him, he would any evening of
the week come to their cottage at Tolchurch.

2. MARCH THE TWENTIETH. SIX TO NINE O'CLOCK P.M.

Two evenings later, to the total disarrangement of his dinner-hour, Mr.
Raunham appeared at Owen's door. His arrival was hailed with genuine
gratitude. The horse was tied to the palings, and the rector ushered
indoors and put into the easy-chair.

Then Graye told him the whole story, reminding him that their first
suspicions had been of a totally different nature, and that in
endeavouring to obtain proof of their truth they had stumbled upon
marks which had surprised them into these new uncertainties, thrice as
marvellous as the first, yet more prominent.

Cytherea's heart was so full of anxiety that it superinduced a manner of
confidence which was a death-blow to all formality. Mr. Raunham took her
hand pityingly.

'It is a serious charge,' he said, as a sort of original twig on which
his thoughts might precipitate themselves.

'Assuming for a moment that such a substitution was rendered an easy
matter by fortuitous events,' he continued, 'there is this consideration
to be placed beside it--what earthly motive can Mr. Manston have had
which would be sufficiently powerful to lead him to run such a very
great risk? The most abandoned roue could not, at that particular
crisis, have taken such a reckless step for the mere pleasure of a new
companion.'

Owen had seen that difficulty about the motive; Cytherea had not.

'Unfortunately for us,' the rector resumed, 'no more evidence is to be
obtained from the porter, Chinney. I suppose you know what became of
him? He got to Liverpool and embarked, intending to work his way to
America, but on the passage he fell overboard and was drowned. But there
is no doubt of the truth of his confession--in fact, his conduct tends
to prove it true--and no moral doubt of the fact that the real Mrs.
Manston left here to go back by that morning's train. This being