’That’s not it—­I wish it was no more.  My suspicion is, first, that the woman living at the Old House is not Mr. Manston’s wife.’

‘Not—­Mr. Manston’s wife?’

‘That is it.’

Miss Aldclyffe looked blankly at the rector.  ’Not Mr. Manston’s wife—­who else can she be?’ she said simply.

‘An improper woman of the name of Anne Seaway.’

Mr. Raunham had, in common with other people, noticed the extraordinary interest of Miss Aldclyffe in the well-being of her steward, and had endeavoured to account for it in various ways.  The extent to which she was shaken by his information, whilst it proved that the understanding between herself and Manston did not make her a sharer of his secrets, also showed that the tie which bound her to him was still unbroken.  Mr. Raunham had lately begun to doubt the latter fact, and now, on finding himself mistaken, regretted that he had not kept his own counsel in the matter.  This it was too late to do, and he pushed on with his proofs.  He gave Miss Aldclyffe in detail the grounds of his belief.

Before he had done, she recovered the cloak of reserve that she had adopted on his opening the subject.

’I might possibly be convinced that you were in the right, after such an elaborate argument,’ she replied, ’were it not for one fact, which bears in the contrary direction so pointedly, that nothing but absolute proof can turn it.  It is that there is no conceivable motive which could induce any sane man—­leaving alone a man of Mr. Manston’s clear-headedness and integrity—­to venture upon such an extraordinary course of conduct—­no motive on earth.’

’That was my own opinion till after the visit of a friend last night—­a friend of mine and poor little Cytherea’s.’

‘Ah—­and Cytherea,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, catching at the idea raised by the name.  ’That he loved Cytherea—­yes and loves her now, wildly and devotedly, I am as positive as that I breathe.  Cytherea is years younger than Mrs. Manston—­as I shall call her—­twice as sweet in disposition, three times as beautiful.  Would he have given her up quietly and suddenly for a common—­Mr. Raunham, your story is monstrous, and I don’t believe it!’ She glowed in her earnestness.

The rector might now have advanced his second proposition—­the possible motive—­but for reasons of his own he did not.

’Very well, madam.  I only hope that facts will sustain you in your belief.  Ask him the question to his face, whether the woman is his wife or no, and see how he receives it.’

‘I will to-morrow, most certainly,’ she said.  ’I always let these things die of wholesome ventilation, as every fungus does.’

But no sooner had the rector left her presence, than the grain of mustard-seed he had sown grew to a tree.  Her impatience to set her mind at rest could not brook a night’s delay.  It was with the utmost difficulty that she could wait till evening arrived to screen her movements.  Immediately the sun had dropped behind the horizon, and before it was quite dark, she wrapped her cloak around her, softly left the house, and walked erect through the gloomy park in the direction of the old manor-house.