have found some excuse for
deterring her. I endeavored to make my face more natural. As she seemed
to want me to take the postal in my hand I drew near and took it.

"The address looks very shaky," she laughed. "I think you will have to
put it in an envelope."

I looked at it,--I could not help it,--her eye was on me, and I could
not even prepare my mind for the shock of seeing it like or totally
unlike the writing of the warning. It was totally unlike; so distinctly
unlike that it was no longer possible to attribute those lines to her
which, according to Mr. Durand's story, had caused Mrs. Fairbrother to
take off her diamond.

"Why, why!" she cried. "You actually look pale. Are you afraid the
doctor will scold us? It hasn't hurt me nearly so much as lying here and
knowing what he would give for one word from me."

"You are right, and I am foolish," I answered with all the spirit left
in me. "I should be glad--I am glad that you have written these words. I
will copy the address on an envelope and send it out in the first mail."

"Thank you," she murmured, giving me back my pencil with a sly smile.
"Now I can sleep. I must have roses in my cheeks when papa comes home."

And she bade fair to have ruddier roses than myself, for conscience was
working havoc in my breast. The theory I had built up with such care,
the theory I had persisted in urging upon the inspector in spite of his
rebuke, was slowly crumbling to pieces in my mind with the falling of
one of its main pillars. With the warning unaccounted for in the manner
I have stated, there was a weakness in my argument which nothing could
make good. How could I tell the inspector, if ever I should be so happy
or so miserable as to meet his eye again? Humiliated to the dust, I
could see no worth now in any of the arguments I had advanced. I flew
from one extreme to the other, and was imputing perfect probity to Mr.
Grey and an honorable if mysterious reason for all his acts, when the
door opened and he came in. Instantly my last doubt vanished. I had not
expected him to return so soon.

He was glad to be back; that I could see, but there was no other
gladness in him. I had looked for some change in his manner and
appearance,--that is, if he returned at all,--but the one I saw was not
a cheerful one, even after he had approached his daughter's bedside
and found her greatly improved. She noticed this and scrutinized him
strangely. He dropped his eyes and turned to l