ad produced on
her.

"My reading is no secret. I am only consulting old newspapers."

He repeated the last words to himself. "Old newspapers?" he said--as if
he was not quite sure of having rightly understood her.

She tried to help him by a more definite reply.

"I am looking through old newspapers," she resumed, "beginning with the
year eighteen hundred and seventy-six."

"And going back from that time," he asked eagerly; "to earlier dates
still?"

"No--just the contrary--advancing from 'seventy-six' to the present
time."

He suddenly turned pale--and tried to hide his face from her by looking
out of the window. For a moment, his agitation deprived him of his
presence of mind. In that moment, she saw that she had alarmed him.

"What have I said to frighten you?" she asked.

He tried to assume a tone of commonplace gallantry. "There are limits
even to your power over me," he replied. "Whatever else you may do, you
can never frighten me. Are you searching those old newspapers with any
particular object in view?"

"Yes."

"May I know what it is?"

"May I know why I frightened you?"

He began to walk up and down the room again--then checked himself
abruptly, and appealed to her mercy.

"Don't be hard on me," he pleaded. "I am so fond of you--oh, forgive me!
I only mean that it distresses me to have any concealments from you. If
I could open my whole heart at this moment, I should be a happier man."

She understood him and believed him. "My curiosity shall never embarrass
you again," she answered warmly. "I won't even remember that I wanted to
hear how you got on in Sir Jervis's house."

His gratitude seized the opportunity of taking her harmlessly into his
confidence. "As Sir Jervis's guest," he said, "my experience is at your
service. Only tell me how I can interest you."

She replied, with some hesitation, "I should like to know what happened
when you first saw Mrs. Rook." To her surprise and relief, he at once
complied with her wishes.

"We met," he said, "on the evening when I first entered the house. Sir
Jervis took me into the dining-room--and there sat Miss Redwood, with
a large black cat on her lap. Older than her brother, taller than her
brother, leaner than her brother--with strange stony eyes, and a skin
like parchment--she looked (if I may speak in contradictions) like
a living corpse. I was presented, and the corpse revived. The last
lingering relics of former good breeding showed them