office, with Tom Vivian leaning over the fire talking, as he had a habit of doing in old Proudfoot’s absence.  As he opened the office door the postman put the letter into his hand; and recognizing the writing, he ran back, and gave it in triumph to George Proudfoot, exclaiming that there it was at last, but he was in danger of being late for the train, and did not wait to see it opened; and when he came back he was told that it had been merely a letter of inquiry, with nothing in it, and destroyed at once.  That was his account; but Proudfoot, Moy, and Vivian all denied any knowledge of this return of his, or of the letter.  The night of this inquiry he was missing.  Jenny Bowater, who was with an aunt in London, heard that a gentleman had called to see her while she was out for a couple of days; and a week later we saw his name among the passengers lost in the Hippolyta off Falmouth.”

“Poor Jenny!  Was she engaged to him?”

“On sufferance.  On her death-bed Mrs. Douglas had wrung from Mr. Bowater a promise that if Archie did well, and ever had means enough, he would not refuse consent; but he always distrusted poor Archie, because of his father, and I believe he sent Jenny away to be out of his reach.  If any of us had only been near, I think we could have persuaded him to face it out, and trust to his innocence; but Raymond was abroad, Miles at sea, I at Oxford, and nothing like a counsellor was near.  If Jenny had but seen him!”

“And has nothing happened to clear him?”

“No.  Raymond hurried home, and did his best, but all in vain.  George Proudfoot was indeed known to have been in debt to Vivian; but Moy, his brother-in-law, an older man, was viewed as a person whose word was above all question, and they both declared the signature at the back of the order not to be genuine.  Archie’s flight, you see, made further investigation impossible; and there was no putting on oath, no cross-examination.”

“Then you think those three had it?”

“We can think nothing else, knowing Archie as we did.  Raymond showed his suspicions so strongly, that old Proudfoot threw up all agencies for our property, and there has been a kind of hostility ever since.  Poor Vivian, as you know, came to his sad end the next year, but he had destroyed all his papers; and George Proudfoot has been dead four or five years, but without making any sign.  Moy has almost risen above the business, and—­see, there’s Proudfoot Lawn, where he lives with the old man.  He claims to compete with the county families, and would like to contest Wils’bro’ with Raymond.”

“And Jenny?” asked Anne.  “Did she bear it as a Christian?  I know she would.”

“She did indeed—­most nobly, most patiently.  Poor girl! at her own home she knew she stood alone in her faith in Archie’s innocence; but they were kind and forbearing, and kept silence, and the knowledge of our trust in him has bound her very close to us.”