"Are you sure?"

"Quite. Your servant came to see me, as your wife's old friend and relative; and, saving the housemaid who admitted her, I alone saw her."

"Have you any objection to tell me the object of her visit?"

Ada was silent.

"Did she come at the wish of Lady Gernon?"

"No," said Ada, for she hardly knew what to reply.

"Then you will tell me why she came?"

Ada was still silent.

"Then I will tell you," said Sir Murray, in a calm voice. "She came to tell you of some absurd suspicions that she had nursed--to try and convince you that Lady Gernon's life was in danger; for, like the rest of us, she had been blinded by the treason of a false woman. I see that the news has not yet reached your ears. Mrs Norton, your cousin has fled!"

"Fled!" exclaimed Ada, starting to her feet.

"Yes, fled," he continued, in measured tones, as if he were forcing each word from his lips. "She left the Castle during my absence, yesterday afternoon, and she has not returned. Captain Norton engaged a conveyance yesterday afternoon, and drove away; Captain Norton has not returned."

Ada Norton stood, pale as a statue, gazing at him with lips apart, as she realised his words, and thought of her husband's absence, his note, his strange behaviour, and Jane Barker's words respecting the last meeting in the wood. Her brain reeled, as the thoughts flashed rapidly through, and for a moment she felt that she was ready to fall; but she recovered herself, to hear that her visitor was still speaking.

"I had a last hope that she might be here--that, overtaken by the storm, this might have been her refuge; but my hope was faint. Mrs Norton, I might, perhaps, have kept the truth from you for a few hours; but you must have known it, sooner or later. You have judged me, I believe, very harshly, so far; now, perhaps, I shall command your pity, as I pity you."

"Judge you harshly! Pity you! You pity me!" exclaimed Ada, flashing into a rage, which lit up her whole countenance, as, with one hand she clutched her boy more tightly to her, and held out the other threateningly at Sir Murray. "You cold-blooded, cowardly miscreant--you destroyer of the hope and happiness, perhaps the life, of that sweet, suffering woman! how dare you confront me with your base, clumsily built-up reasoning, as if every woman upon earth possessed your vile, suspicious nature! You dare to come here with your base subterfuges-- your dastardly insinuations--to try and make me believe that Lady Gernon, my pure-hearted cousin, and confidante from a child, has fled with my n.o.ble, true, and faithful husband! You lie, you false-hearted dastard--you insidious, courtly, smooth villain--you lie, and you know it! Heaven forgive me my pa.s.sion, but it is enough to madden me! Go!

leave here this instant; for you pollute the place, and you tempt me to believe that you have murdered her! Yes, you may start! But my husband! as true-hearted and honourable a man as ever breathed! How dare you?"

"Woman, where is your husband?" cried Sir Murray, fiercely.

"I do not know. He is from home. How dare you question me?"

"Poor, weak, self-deceiving creature!" he said, contemptuously, "I do not question you! I have noticed--Nay, stay here!" he exclaimed, catching her by the wrist. "You shall hear me! They have been planning long enough now! It was a cursed day when I returned to the Castle; and I soon found that out, though you blinded yourself to the truth. But sooner than have any scandal--than have my name dragged through the Divorce Court, and sneered at by every contemptible fool--I have borne all in silence--suffered, as man never before suffered; and, rejoicing in my weakness, they have corresponded and met! Fool that I was, when I found them last in the wood, and covered the villain--the serpent, the robber of my jewels and of my honour--when I covered him with my pistol, that I did not shoot him down as one would a common thief and burglar!

But, no; I would not have a scandal afloat, even though I was becoming the laughingstock and by-word of my servants! But, there, go! I pity and admire you; for I can feel--you teach me to feel--that, there may be yet women worthy of faith!"

As he spoke he threw her hand roughly from him just as the door opened, and Mr and Mrs Elstree entered the room.

"You are here, then!" exclaimed the Rector, in agonised tones. "We have been to the Castle. In Heaven's name, Murray--Ada--what does all this mean? We hear that Marion is missing! Can you form no idea where she is?"

"Yes!" said Sir Murray, bitterly; "abroad by this time!"

"What, in Heaven's name, does it all mean?" exclaimed Mrs Elstree, pitifully.

"Mean, madam!" exclaimed Sir Murray, as he strode to the door, and turned to gaze fiercely at all present--"mean? That I married a harlot!"

Book 1, Chapter x.x.xVIII.

CHANGES AT HAND.

Everything that could be done in the way of searching was energetically carried out. The lake, every pond, and even many of the water-holes upon the moor were dragged; but no tidings--no trace of Lady Gernon was obtained. McCray had seen her walk across the lawn and disappear behind some shrubs, as he was at work, and that seemed to be the last trace.

No one could be found who had seen her pa.s.s in any direction; and the topic of conversation in Merland village and the neighbourhood began to change its tone, as people learned how Sir Murray had, for a short time, made inquiries respecting the route taken by Captain Norton, pursuing him, too, for some distance, until he seemed to have disappeared, the information he obtained being of a very vague nature.

But it was very plain to those who took an interest in the affair that Sir Murray Gernon's endeavours to trace his lady were made in a half-hearted manner. The search in the neighbourhood of the Castle was strenuous enough, but that was due to the exertions of McCray; and when, at the end of a week, people learned that Sir Murray had shut himself up, after discharging half the servants with liberal wages, they raised their eyebrows, and shook their heads, and wondered whether Captain Norton would ever show himself again at the Hall.

As for Jane, she was nearly having a rupture with McCray, upon his giving in his adhesion to the popular feeling; but the matter blew over, and whatever might be her thoughts, she said no more, waiting in expectation of the battle that she felt to be in store for her when, rousing himself once more, Sir Murray should recall her words, and wish to discharge her.

But the day she dreaded did not come; while, to the great disgust of the servants, McCray seemed to be more and more in the confidence of Sir Murray.

"Why don't he keep to his 'gairden,' as he calls it?" said the footman, indignantly; for he felt himself much ill-used, since he had to wear his livery, eat his food, and do nothing at all in return, for the baronet's simple meals were taken into his room by McCray. Williams, the other footman--Sir Murray's spy, as Jane indignantly called him--had been amongst the servants first discharged.

"The poor gairden's going to rack and ruin, la.s.sie," said McCray; "and just as I was going to make such improvements and alterations! But Sir Mooray says I'm not to let either of the ither sairvants go to him; and I believe he frightened that loon in the breeches, because he would take in the letters."

"But he sha'n't frighten me," said Jane, firmly. "I'll never leave the child, come what may."

"Dinna fash yersel', darling," said McCray, tenderly. "I've got the wages and orders of six more that are to be sent away at once, but ye're nae one of them. Sir Mooray winna discharge ye till he packs me off."

"Indeed!" said Jane. "And how do you know?"

"Why, we've been talking aboot ye, la.s.sie; and Sir Mooray said he had made up his mind to go abroad again, and asked me if I'd gang wi' him; and though it cut me to the heart to leave my fruit and flowers, la.s.sie, I thocht I'd see new sorts in the far countree, and I said I'd gang."

"It didn't fret you, then, to think of leaving me?" said Jane, bitterly.

"Hoot, la.s.sie! and who's aboot to gang and leave ye?" exclaimed McCray.

"Sir Mooray said I was to see and get a good nurse to tak' charge of the bairn--one as would go abroad; and I telled him he couldna do better than keep ye, when I thocht he was going to fly at me. But I telled him, quite still like, that we'd promised to marry, and that if he didna tak' ye, la.s.sie, he wadna tak' me; and that seemed to make him mad for a bit, till I telled him that ye lo'ed weel the bairn, and that ye were a gude girl at heart. But he wadna listen."

"Was it to be a good place, Alexander?" said Jane.

"Ay, la.s.sie; I was to have a fair bit o' siller."

"Then you mustn't give it up for me."

"I didna mean to, la.s.sie," said McCray, coolly.

Jane was piqued, and said nothing.

"There, la.s.sie, I winna beat aboot the bush any more. It was settled at last that we twain are to gang thegither; and I agreed for both, and Sir Mooray starts next week for the Lake Como."

"And like you!" said Jane, with asperity. "How could you know that I'd go?"

"Why, didn't I ken that ye'd gang for my sake?" said McCray.

"No, indeed!" exclaimed Jane.

"That's just what I thocht," said McCray, with a twinkle in his eye; "but I was quite sure ye would on account of the bairn."

Jane smiled, in spite of herself, as McCray's arm was pa.s.sed round her: but her eyes filled with tears directly after, as she placed the child upon a chair, and then went down upon her knees before it, kissing it again and again.

"It was good, and kind, and thoughtful of you, Alexander," she said, turning to the gardener; "and I know you've been having a hard battle for me."