wood's place--give himself up to justice and
set Westwood free. Another was the belief that it was utterly impossible
for Cynthia ever to forgive him for what he had done, and that the
person chiefly responsible for all the misery and shame and disgrace,
which had fallen so unequally on the heads of those concerned in "the
Beechfield tragedy," was no other than Florence Vane.

Farther than these vague statements he did not go. He never said in so
many words that he was guilty of Sydney Vane's death, and that he, and
not Westwood, ought to have borne the punishment. Yet he said enough to
give Cynthia cause for great unhappiness. She tried not to believe that
there was any foundation of truth for his words; but she could not
succeed. The ideas were too persistent, too logical, to be altogether
the fruit of imagination. More and more she clung to the belief that
Flossy was responsible for Mr. Vane's sudden death, that Hubert knew it,
and that for his sister's sake he had concealed the truth. If this were
so, it would be terrible indeed; and yet Cynthia had a soft corner in
her heart for the man who had sacrificed his own honor to conceal his
sister's sin.

Cynthia did not go back to Madame della Scala's house. Flossy had done
her work with the singing-mistress as she had done it elsewhere. She
blackened Cynthia's name wherever she went. So, two days after the
girl's departure from Norton Square, her boxes and all her belongings
were sent to her from her former home without a word of apology or
explanation. She felt that she was simply turned out of Madame's
house--that she could never hope to go back to it again. She was now
absolutely homeless; and she was also without employment; for she had
withdrawn from several engagements to sing at concerts, and at more than
one private house she had received an intimation that her services could
be dispensed with. No reason in these cases was given; but it was plain
that the world did not think Miss West a very reputable person, and that
society had turned its back upon her. Cynthia had not leisure to think
what this would mean for her in the future; at present she cared for
nothing but her duties in Hubert Lepel's sick-room.

Her boxes were deposited at last in Mrs. Jenkins' little house at the
back; and there a small room was appropriated to Cynthia's use. She was
"supposed to be lodging at Mrs. Jenkins'," as Sabina told her mistress;
but she practically lived in Hubert's rooms