), returned answer that
she did not know. Mrs. Lorrington, deeply grieved to disturb Miss
Vanhorn a second time, then requested to be favored with Miss Douglas's
address. Miss Vanhorn, with assurances that it was no disturbance, but
always a pleasure to oblige Mrs. Lorrington, replied that she did not
possess it. Then Helen waited until the old coupe rolled away for an
afternoon drive, its solitary occupant inside, her profile visible
between the two closed glass windows like an object mounted for a
microscope, and going across, beguiled the mild Bessmer to tell all she
knew. This was not much; but the result was great anger in Helen's mind,
and a determination to avenge the harsh deed. Bessmer did not know
causes, but she knew actions. Anne had been sent away in disgrace, the
maid being forbidden to know even the direction the lonely traveller had
taken. Helen, quick to solve riddles, solved this, at least as far as
one side of it was concerned, and the quick, partially correct guesses
of a quick-witted woman are often, by their very nearness, more
misleading than any others. Mr. Dexter had been with Anne during the
evening of the ball; probably he had asked her to be his wife. Anne,
faithful to her engagement, had refused him; and Miss Vanhorn, faithful
to her cruel nature, had sent her away in disgrace. And when Helen
learned that Mr. Dexter had gone also--gone early in the morning before
any one was stirring--she took it as confirmation of her theory, and was
now quite sure. She would tell all the house, she said to herself. She
began by telling Heathcote.

They were strolling in the garden. She turned toward the little arbor at
the end of the path.

"Not there," said Heathcote.

"Why not? Have you been there so much with Rachel?" said his companion,
in a sweet voice.

"Never, I think. But arbors are damp holes."

"Nevertheless, I am going there, and you are going with me."

"As you please."

"Ward, how much have you been with Rachel?" she asked, when they were
seated in the little bower, which was overgrown with the old-fashioned
vine called matrimony.

"Oh!" said Heathcote, with a sound of fatigue in his voice. "Are we
never to have an end to that subject?"

"Yes; when you _make_ an end."

"One likes to amuse one's self. You do."

"Whom do you mean now?" said Helen, diverted from her questions for the
moment, as he intended she should be.

To tell the truth, Heathcote did not mean any one; but he n