“Another product of the system,” said Raymond.

“Like the gleeman, whom we see through a picturesque medium,” said Julius; “but who could not have been pleasant to the mediaeval clergyman.  I have hopes of poor Fanny yet.  She will drift home one of these days, and we shall get hold of her.”

“What a fellow you are for hoping!” returned Raymond, a little impatiently.

“Why not?” said Julius.

“Why!  I should say—­” replied Raymond, setting out to walk home, where he presided over his friend’s breakfast and departure, and received a little banter over his solicitude for the precious infant.  Cecil was still in bed, and Frank was looking ghastly, and moved and spoke like one in a dream, Raymond was relieved to hear him pleading with Susan for to his mother’s room much earlier than usual.

Susan took pity and let him in; when at once he flung himself into a chair, with his face hidden on the bed, and exclaimed, “Mother, it is all over with me!”

“My dear boy, what can have happened?”

“Mother, you remember those two red pebbles.  Could you believe that she has sold hers?”

“Are you sure she has?  I heard that they had a collection of such things from the lapidary at Rockpier.”

“No, mother, that is no explanation.  When I found that I should be able to come down, I sent a card to Lady Tyrrell, saying I would meet them on the race-ground—­a post-card, so that Lena might see it.  When I came there was no Lena, only some excuse about resting for the ball—­lying down with a bad headache, and so forth—­making it plain that I need not go on to Sirenwood.  By and by there was some mild betting with the ladies, and Lady Tyrrell said, ’There’s a chance for you, Bee; don’t I see the very fellow to Conny’s charm?’ Whereupon that girl Conny pulled out the very stone I gave Lena three years ago at Rockpier.  I asked; yes, I asked—­Lena had sold it; Lena, at the bazaar; Lena, who—­”

“Stay, Frank, is this trusting Lena as she bade you trust her?  How do you know that there were no other such pebbles?”

“You have not seen her as I have done.  There has been a gradual alienation—­holding aloof from us, and throwing herself into the arms of those Strangeways.  It is no fault of her sister’s.  She has lamented it to me.”

“Or pointed it out.  Did she know the history of these pebbles?”

“No one did.  Lena was above all reserved with her.”

“Camilla Tyrrell knows a good deal more than she is told.  Where’s your pebble?  You did not stake that?”

“Those who had one were welcome to the other.”

“O, my poor foolish Frank!  May it not be gone to tell the same tale of you that you think was told of her?  Is this all?”

“Would that it were!”

“Well, go on, my dear.  Was she at the ball?”

“Surrounded by all that set.  I was long in getting near her, and then she said her card was full; and when I made some desperate entreaty, she said, in an undertone that stabbed me by its very calmness, ’After what has passed to-day, the less we meet the better.’  And she moved away, so as to cut me off from another word.”