He drove on slowly in silence without answering her. She continued:

"I wrote to you while you were in Europe, informing you that Mrs.

Stillwater had been invited by my grandfather to come to Rockhold to remain as long as should be convenient to herself. You never replied to my letter."

"I never got such a letter, Cora. It must have been lost with others that miscarried among the Continental mails, when they were following me from one office to another. But even if I had received such a letter, it could have made no difference. I could not have prevented Mrs.

Stillwater's visit, nor the event that resulted from the visit. I could not have written or returned in time."

"Should you have prevented the visit or the marriage that followed if you could have done so?"

"Most certainly I should."

"Why?"

"For the same reason that you, or Clarence, or Sylvan would have done so. For the reason of its total unfitness. But, Cora, my dear, I repeat that you have not been frank with me. You are hiding something from me."

"And I repeat, Uncle Fabian, that I have no positive knowledge of any--"

"Yes; so you said before," he exclaimed, interrupting her. "You have no positive knowledge, but you have very strong suspicions founded upon very solid grounds! Now, what are these grounds, my dear? I am your uncle. You should give me your confidence."

If Mr. Fabian had not put the matter in this way, and if they had not been driving along the dark and over-shadowed road where the meeting branches of the trees above almost hid the light of the stars, so that only one or two occasionally gleamed through the foliage, Cora would never have been able to reply to her uncle as she did.

"Uncle Fabian, do you remember a certain warm night in September some five years ago, when we stopped at the Wirt House in Baltimore?"

"On our way home from Canada--yes, I do."

"My room was close that night and I could not sleep. A little after midnight I got up and put oil my dressing-gown and went into the adjoining room, which was our private parlor, and I sat down in a cool corner in the shadow of the curtain and in the draught of the window. I fell asleep, but was soon awakened by the sound of a door opening and some one whispering. I was about to call out when I recognized your voice. The room was pitch dark. I could not see you; but then I was about to speak, when I recognized another voice--Mrs. Stillwater's. You had let yourself in by your own key, through the door leading from the hall. She had come in through the door leading from her room, which was on the opposite side of the parlor from mine."

Cora paused to wait for the effect of her words.

Mr. Fabian drove on slowly in silence.

"I sat there quite still, too much surprised to speak or move."

"And so you overheard that interview," said Mr. Fabian, with a dash of anger in his usually pleasant voice.

"I could not escape. I was amazed, spellbound, too confused to know what to do."

"Well?"

"I gathered from your words that you and she were either secretly married or secretly engaged to be married."

"That was your opinion."

"What other opinion could I form? You were providing her with a house and an income. She was speaking of herself as a daughter-in-law sure to be acceptable to your father and mother. Of course, I judged from that that you were either wedded or betrothed, which was an incomprehensible thing to me, who had been led to believe that the lady was the wife of Captain Stillwater, remaining in Baltimore to meet her husband, whose ship was then daily expected to arrive."

"You were wrong, Cora," said Mr. Fabian, now speaking in his natural tone without a shade of anger--quite wrong, my dear; there was nothing of the sort. I was never engaged to Mrs. Stillwater."

"Then she subsequently refused you. I am telling you what I thought then, not what I think now. I have heard from her own lips that after her husband's death you proposed to her and she refused you."

Mr. Fabian shook with silent laughter. When he recovered he asked:

"And you believed her?"

"I do not know. I was in a maze. There were so many contradictory and inconsistent circ.u.mstances surrounding the woman that seemed to live and move in a web of deception woven by herself," said Cora, wearily, as if tired of the subject.

"And, after all, she is a very shallow creature, incapable of any deep scheming; there is no great harm. She knows that she is beautiful--still beautiful--and her only art is subtle flattery. She flattered your grandfather 'to the bent of his humor,' with no deeper design than to marry him and gain a luxurious home and an ample dower, as well as an adoring husband. You see she has succeeded in marrying him, poor little devil! but she has gained nothing but a prison and a jailer and penal servitude. I repeat, there is no great harm in her; and yet, Cora, my dear, I do not permit my wife to visit her, and I do not wish you to remain in the same house with her."

"Why, Uncle Fabian! you were the very first to introduce her to us! It was you who were charged with the duty of finding a nursery governess for me, and you selected Rose Flowers from a host of applicants."

"I know I did, my dear. She seemed to me a lovely, amiable, attractive girl of seventeen, not very well educated, yet quite old enough and learned enough to be nursery governess to a little lady of seven summers. And she did her duty and made herself beloved by you all, did she not?"

"Yes, indeed."

"And so she always has done and always will do. And yet, my dear, you must not live in the same house with her now, even if you did live years together when she was your governess."

"Are you not even more prejudiced against Mrs. Rockharrt than I am?"

"Bah! no, my dear; I have no ill will against the woman, though I will not let my niece live with her or my wife visit her.

"I wish, Uncle Fabian, that you would be more explicit and tell me all you know of Rose Flowers--or Mrs. Stillwater--before she became Mrs.

Rockharrt."

"Have you told me all you know of her, Cora, my dear?"

"I have said several times that I know nothing, and yet--stop--"

"What?"

"In addition to that strange interview that I overheard, yet did not understand, there was something else that I saw, but equally did not understand."

"What was that?"

"Something that happened while we were in New York city in May last."

"Will you tell me what it was?"

"Yes, certainly. We were staying at the Star Hotel. We stayed over Sunday, and we went to the Episcopal church near our hotel, to hear an English divine preach."

"Well?"

"He was the celebrated pulpit orator, the Dean of Olivet--"

"Good Heav--" exclaimed Mr. Fabian, involuntarily, but stopping himself suddenly.

"What is the matter?" demanded Cora, suspiciously.

"I was too near the edge of the precipice. We might have been in the river in another moment," said Mr. Fabian.