erfully. "They're watching
the ports, I understand; so maybe I should have a difficulty in getting
off. On the other hand, I'm pretty certain that the landlady here
suspects me; and I thought of making tracks early to-morrow morning,
Cynthia, my dear, if you have no objection to an early start."

"Anything you please, dear father."

"We're safest in London, I think," said Westwood thoughtfully; "but I
think that I shall try to get out of the country as soon as I can. I am
afraid it is no good to follow up my clue, Cynthia; I can't find out
anything more about Mrs. Vane."

Cynthia gave a little shiver, and then clung to him helplessly; she
could not speak.

"I've sometimes thought," her father continued, "that your young
man--Mr. Lepel--knew more than he chose to say. I've sometimes wondered
whether--knowing me to be your father and all that, Cynthia--there might
not be a chance of getting him to tell all the truth, supposing that I
went to him and threw myself on his--his generosity, so to speak? Do you
think he'd give me up, Cynthy?"

"No, father--I don't think he would."

"It might be worth trying. A bold stroke succeeds sometimes where a
timid one might fail. He's ill, you say, still, isn't he?"

Cynthia thought of the fall that she had heard as she left the room.

"Yes," she answered almost inaudibly; "he has been very ill, and he is
not strong yet."

"And you've left him all the same?" said her father, regarding her
curiously. "There must have been something serious--eh, my lass?"

"Oh, father, don't ask me!"

"Don't you care for him now then, my girl?" said Westwood, with more
tenderness than he usually showed.

"I don't know--I don't know! I think I--I hate him; but I cannot be
sure."

"It's his fault then? He's done something bad?"

"Very bad!" cried poor Cynthia, hiding her face.

"And you can't forgive him?"

"Not--not till he has made amends!" said the girl, with a passionate
sob.

Her father sat looking at her with a troubled face.

"If your mother hadn't forgiven me many and many a time, Cynthia," he
said at last, "I should have gone to destruction long before she died.
But as long as ever she lived she kept me straight."

"She was your wife," said Cynthia, in a choked voice. "I am not Hubert's
wife--and I never shall be now. Never mind, father; we were right to
separate, and I am glad that we have done it. Now will you tell me where
you are thinking of going, or if you have made an