“Who is that strange gentleman, Hedges?” she asked, from the drawing-room, as the butler descended.

“I don’t know, my lady.”

“What is his name?”

“I have not heard it, my lady.”

“He looks like a clergyman.”

“He does, my lady.”

Apparently Hedges was impenetrable, and she allowed him to go down.  Her curiosity was very much excited; it may be said, uneasily excited; there is no accounting for these instincts that come over us, shadowing forth a vague sense of dread.  Although engaged out that night to more than one place, Lady Hartledon lingered on in the drawing-room.

They came out of the room at last and passed the drawing-room door.  She pushed it to, only peeping out when they had gone by.  There was nothing to hear; they were talking of ordinary matters.  The stranger, in his strong Scotch accent, remarked what a hot day it had been.  In travelling, no doubt very, responded Mr. Carr.  Lady Hartledon condescended to cautiously put her head over the balustrades.  There was no bell rung; Lord Hartledon showed his visitor out himself.

“And now for these criminal law books, Carr, that bear upon the case,” he said, returning from the front-door.

“I must go down to my chambers for them.”

“I know they can’t bring it home to me; I know they can’t!” he exclaimed, in tones so painfully eager as to prove to Lady Hartledon’s ears that he thought they could, whatever the matter might be.  “I’ll go with you, Carr; this uncertainty is killing me.”

“There’s little uncertainty about it, I fear,” was the grave reply.  “You had better look the worst in the face.”

They went out, intending to hail the first cab.  Very much to Lord Hartledon’s surprise he saw his wife’s carriage waiting at the door, the impatient horses chafing at their delay.  What could have detained her?  “Wait for me one moment, Carr,” he said.  “Stop a cab if you see one.”

He dashed up to the drawing-room; his wife was coming forth then, her cloak and gloves on, her fan in her hand.  “Maude, my darling,” he exclaimed, “what has kept you?  Surely you have not waited for me?—­you did not misunderstand me?”

“I hardly know what has kept me,” she evasively answered.  “It is late, but I’m going now.”

It never occurred to Lord Hartledon that she had been watching or listening.  Incapable of any meanness of the sort, he could not suspect it in another.  Lady Hartledon’s fertile brain had been suggesting a solution of this mystery.  It was rather curious, perhaps, that her suspicions should take the same bent that her husband’s did at first—­that of instituting law proceedings by Dr. Ashton.

She said nothing.  Her husband led her out, placed her in the carriage, and saw it drive away.  Then he and the barrister got into a cab and went to the Temple.

“We’ll take the books home with us, Carr,” he said, feverishly.  “You often have fellows dropping in to your chambers at night; at my house we shall be secure from interruption.”