ick it up for her--then threw
open the door and looked into the billiard-room. It was empty.

Had some person been listening, and had that person retreated in time
to escape discovery? The open door of the smoking-room showed that room
also to be empty. A third door was open--the door of the side hall,
leading into the grounds. Julian closed and locked it, and returned to
the dining-room.

"I can only suppose," he said to Mercy, "that the billiard-room door was
not properly shut, and that the draught of air from the hall must have
moved it."

She accepted the explanation in silence. He was, to all appearance, not
quite satisfied with it himself. For a moment or two he looked about him
uneasily. Then the old fascination fastened its hold on him again. Once
more he looked at the graceful turn of her head, at the rich masses of
her hair. The courage to put the critical question to him, now that
she had lured him into remaining in the room, was still a courage that
failed her. She remained as busy as ever with her work--too busy to look
at him; too busy to speak to him. The silence became unendurable. He
broke it by making a commonplace inquiry after her health. "I am well
enough to be ashamed of the anxiety I have caused and the trouble I have
given," she answered. "To-day I have got downstairs for the first
time. I am trying to do a little work." She looked into the basket. The
various specimens of wool in it were partly in balls and partly in loose
skeins. The skeins were mixed and tangled. "Here is sad confusion!"
she exclaimed, timidly, with a faint smile. "How am I to set it right
again?"

"Let me help you," said Julian.

"You!"

"Why not?" he asked, with a momentary return of the quaint humor which
she remembered so well. "You forget that I am a curate. Curates are
privileged to make themselves useful to young ladies. Let me try."

He took a stool at her feet, and set himself to unravel one of the
tangled skeins. In a minute the wool was stretched on his hands, and
the loose end was ready for Mercy to wind. There was something in the
trivial action, and in the homely attention that it implied, which in
some degree quieted her fear of him. She began to roll the wool off his
hands into a ball. Thus occupied, she said the daring words which were
to lead him little by little into betraying his suspicions, if he did
indeed suspect the truth.

CHAPTER XVII. THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.

"You were here when I fainted