‘He should be,’ he answered; and, occupied as she was with her own trouble, she was struck with the gloom of the attorney’s tone.  ’We settled,’ he continued, ’as soon as we learned where the men had left you, that I should start for Calne and make inquiries there, and they should start an hour later for Chippenham and do the same there.  Which reminds me that we should be nearing Calne.  You would like to rest there?’

‘I would rather go forward to Marlborough,’ she answered feverishly, ’if you could send to Chippenham to tell them I am safe?  I would rather go back at once, and quietly.’

‘To be sure,’ he said, patting her hand.  ‘To be sure, to be sure,’ he repeated, his voice shaking as if he wrestled with some emotion.  ‘You’ll he glad to be with—­with your mother.’

Julia wondered a little at his tone, but in the main he had described her feelings.  She had gone through so many things that, courageous as she was, she longed for rest and a little time to think.  She assented in silence therefore, and, wonderful to relate, he fell silent too, and remained so until they reached Calne.  There the inn was roused; a messenger was despatched to Chippenham; and while a relay of horses was prepared he made her enter the house and eat and drink.  Had he stayed at that, and preserved when he re-entered the carriage the discreet silence he had maintained before, it is probable that she would have fallen asleep in sheer weariness, and deferred to the calmer hours of the morning the problem that occupied her.  But as they settled themselves in their corners, and the carriage rolled out of the town, the attorney muttered that he did not doubt Sir George would be at Marlborough to breakfast.  This set the girl’s mind running.  She moved restlessly, and presently, ‘When did you hear what had happened to me?’ she asked.

‘A few minutes after you were carried off,’ he answered; ’but until Sir George appeared, a quarter of an hour later, nothing was done.’

‘And he started in pursuit?’ To hear it gave her a delicious thrill between pain and pleasure.

‘Well, at first, to confess the truth,’ Mr. Fishwick answered humbly, ’I thought it was his doing, and—­’

‘You did?’ she cried in surprise.

’Yes, I did; even I did.  And until we met Mr. Dunborough, and Sir George got the truth from him—­I had no certainty.  More shame to me!’

She bit her lips to keep back the confession that rose to them, and for a little while was silent.  Then, to his astonishment, ’Will he ever forgive me?’ she cried, her voice tremulous.  ’How shall I tell him?  I was mad—­I must have been mad.’

‘My dear child,’ the attorney answered in alarm, ’compose yourself.  What is it?  What is the matter?’

’I, too thought it was he!  I, even I. I thought that he wanted to rid himself of me,’ she cried, pouring forth her confession in shame and abasement.  ’There!  I can hardly bear to tell you in the dark, and how shall I tell him in the light?’