she knew not what had become of her mistress. What could she do? The
responsibility was more than she could bear.

The conversation with the French nurse firmly established one thing in
her mind. The man who was buried in the cemetery of Auteuil with the
name of Lord Harry Norland on a headstone, the man who had lingered so
long with pulmonary disease, was the man whose death she had witnessed.
It was Oxbye the Dane. Of that there could be no doubt. Equally there
was no doubt in her own mind that he had been poisoned by the
doctor--by Mrs. Vimpany's husband--in the presence and, to all
appearance, with the consent and full knowledge of Lord Harry himself.
Then her mistress was in the power of these two men--villains who had
now added murder to their other crimes. As for herself, she was alone,
almost friendless; in a week or two she would be penniless. If she told
her tale, what mischief might she not do? If she was silent, what
mischief might not follow?

She sat down to write to the only friend she had. But her trouble froze
her brain. She had not been able to put the case plainly. Words failed
her.

She was not at any time fluent with her pen. She now found herself
really unable to convey any intelligible account of what had happened.
To state clearly all that she knew so that the conclusion should be
obvious and patent to the reader would have been at all times
difficult, and was now impossible. She could only confine herself to a
simple vague statement. "I can only say that from all I have seen and
heard I have reasons for believing that Lord Harry is not dead at all."
She felt that this was a feeble way of summing up, but she was not at
the moment equal to more. "When I write again, after I have heard from
you, I will tell you more. To-day I cannot. I am too much weighed down.
I am afraid of saying too much. Besides, I have no money, and must look
for work. I am not anxious, however, about my own future, because my
lady will not forsake me. I am sure of that. It is my anxiety about her
and the dreadful secrets I have learned which give me no rest."

Several days passed before the answer came. And then it was an answer
which gave her little help. "I have no good news for you," she said.
"Mr. Mountjoy continues weak. Whatever your secret, I cannot ask you to
communicate it to him in his present condition. He has been grieved and
angry beyond all belief by Lady Harry's decision to rejoin her husband.
It is hard t