ot of sparing the culprit, but of satisfying me;
and afterwards"----

She paused, and I saw that she would not conclude in words a sentence
I could perhaps have finished for myself.

"I see," I replied, "that Eive is the source of your trouble, but not
what the trouble is. For her sake, do not force me to extort the truth
from her."

"I doubt whether she has guessed my misgiving," Eveena answered. "It
may be that you are right--that it is because she was so long the only
one you were fond of, that I cannot like and trust her as you do.
But ... you leave the telegraph in my charge, understanding, of course,
that it will be used as when you are at home. So, after Davilo's
warning, I have written their messages for Eunane and the others, but
I could not refuse Eive's request to write her own, and, like you, I
have never read them."

"Why?" I asked. "Surely it is strange to give her, of all, a special
privilege and confidence?"

Eveena was silent. She could in no case have reproached me in words,
and even the reproach of silence was so unusual that I could not but
feel it keenly. I saw at that moment that for whatever had happened or
might happen I might thank myself; might thank the doubt I would not
avow to my own mind, but could not conceal from her, that Eveena had
condescended to something like jealousy of one whose childish
simplicity, real or affected, had strangely won my heart, as children
do win hearts hardened by experience of life's roughness and evil.

"I know nothing," Eveena said at last: "yet somehow, and wholly
without any reason I can explain, I fear. Eive, you may remember, has,
as your companion, made acquaintance with many households whose heads
you do not believe friends to you or the Zinta. She is a diligent
correspondent. She never affects to conceal anything, and yet no one
of us has lately seen the contents of a note sent or received by her."

There was nothing tangible in Eveena's suspicion. It was most
repugnant to my own feelings, and yet it implanted, whether by force
of sympathy or of instinct, a misgiving that never left me again.

"My own," I answered, "I would trust your judgment, your observation
or feminine instinct and insight into character, far sooner than my
own conclusions upon solid facts. But instincts and presentiments,
though we are not scientifically ignorant enough to disregard them,
are not evidence on which we can act or even inquire."

"No," she said. "And yet it