Mr. Raunham at length divined that her love for Manston, if it had ever existed, had transmuted itself into a very different feeling now.

‘At any rate,’ he said, as he took his leave and mounted his mare, ’I will see about it.  Rest content, Miss Graye, and depend upon it that I will not lead you into difficulty.’

‘Conceal it,’ she still pleaded.

‘We’ll see—­but of course I must do my duty.’

‘No—­don’t do your duty!’ She looked up at him through the gloom, illuminating her own face and eyes with the candle she held.

‘I will consider, then,’ said Mr. Raunham, sensibly moved.  He turned his horse’s head, bade them a warm adieu, and left the door.

The rector of Carriford trotted homewards under the cold and clear March sky, its countless stars fluttering like bright birds.  He was unconscious of the scene.  Recovering from the effect of Cytherea’s voice and glance of entreaty, he laid the subject of the interview clearly before himself.

The suspicions of Cytherea and Owen were honest, and had foundation —­that he must own.  Was he—­a clergyman, magistrate, and conscientious man—­justified in yielding to Cytherea’s importunities to keep silence, because she dreaded the possibility of a return to Manston?  Was she wise in her request?  Holding her present belief, and with no definite evidence either way, she could, for one thing, never conscientiously marry any one else.  Suppose that Cytherea were Manston’s wife—­i.e., that the first wife was really burnt?  The adultery of Manston would be proved, and, Mr. Raunham thought, cruelty sufficient to bring the case within the meaning of the statute.  Suppose the new woman was, as stated, Mr. Manston’s restored wife?  Cytherea was perfectly safe as a single woman whose marriage had been void.  And if it turned out that, though this woman was not Manston’s wife, his wife was still living, as Owen had suggested, in America or elsewhere, Cytherea was safe.

The first supposition opened up the worst contingency.  Was she really safe as Manston’s wife?  Doubtful.  But, however that might be, the gentle, defenceless girl, whom it seemed nobody’s business to help or defend, should be put in a track to proceed against this man.  She had but one life, and the superciliousness with which all the world now regarded her should be compensated in some measure by the man whose carelessness—­to set him in the best light—­had caused it.

Mr. Raunham felt more and more positively that his duty must be done.  An inquiry must be made into the matter.  Immediately on reaching home, he sat down and wrote a plain and friendly letter to Mr. Manston, and despatched it at once to him by hand.  Then he flung himself back in his chair, and went on with his meditation.  Was there anything in the suspicion?  There could be nothing, surely.  Nothing is done by a clever man without a motive, and what conceivable motive could Manston have for such abnormal conduct?  Corinthian that he might be, who had preyed on virginity like St. George’s dragon, he would never have been absurd enough to venture on such a course for the possession alone of the woman—­there was no reason for it—­she was inferior to Cytherea in every respect, physical and mental.