Lord Loring smiled.  “My dear sir, nothing of that sort is incurable, if we can only find the right woman.”

The tone in which he spoke suggested to me that he had got “the right woman”—­and I took the liberty of saying so.  He at once acknowledged that I had guessed right.

“Romayne is, as you say, a difficult subject to deal with,” he resumed.  “If I commit the slightest imprudence, I shall excite his suspicion—­and there will be an end of my hope of being of service to him.  I shall proceed carefully, I can tell you.  Luckily, poor dear fellow, he is fond of pictures!  It’s quite natural that I should ask him to see some recent additions to my gallery—­isn’t it?  There is the trap that I set!  I have a sweet girl to tempt him, staying at my house, who is a little out of health and spirits herself.  At the right moment, I shall send word upstairs.  She may well happen to look in at the gallery (by the merest accident) just at the time when Romayne is looking at my new pictures.  The rest depends, of course, on, the effect she produces.  If you knew her, I believe you would agree with me that the experiment is worth trying.”

Not knowing the lady, I had little faith in the success of the experiment.  No one, however, could doubt Lord Loring’s admirable devotion to his friend—­and with that I was fain to be content.

When Romayne returned to us, it was decided to submit his case to a consultation of physicians at the earliest possible moment.  When Lord Loring took his departure, I accompanied him to the door of the hotel, perceiving that he wished to say a word more to me in private.  He had, it seemed, decided on waiting for the result of the medical consultation before he tried the effect of the young lady’s attractions; and he wished to caution me against speaking prematurely of visiting the picture gallery to our friend.

Not feeling particularly interested in these details of the worthy nobleman’s little plot, I looked at his carriage, and privately admired the two splendid horses that drew it.  The footman opened the door for his master, and I became aware, for the first time, that a gentleman had accompanied Lord Loring to the hotel, and had waited for him in the carriage.  The gentleman bent forward, and looked up from a book that he was reading.  To my astonishment, I recognized the elderly, fat and cheerful priest who had shown such a knowledge of localities, and such an extraordinary interest in Vange Abbey!

It struck me as an odd coincidence that I should see the man again in London, so soon after I had met with him in Yorkshire.  This was all I thought about it, at the time.  If I had known then, what I know now, I might have dreamed, let us say, of throwing that priest into the lake at Vange, and might have reckoned the circumstance among the wisely-improved opportunities of my life.

To return to the serious interests of the present narrative, I may now announce that my evidence as an eye-witness of events has come to an end.  The day after Lord Loring’s visit, domestic troubles separated me, to my most sincere regret, from Romayne.  I have only to add, that the foregoing narrative of personal experience has been written with a due sense of responsibility, and that it may be depended on throughout as an exact statement of the truth.