"Oh, my lady!"

"Oh, fiddlesticks!" said Miss Berengaria, stalking into the castle.

"Have you a good meal ready? If you have, send it up. I'm as hungry as a mosquito after my drive."

"Victoria is laying the table, my lady."

"Who is she? Oh yes. The brat of a girl that urchin of mine talks about.

He wants to come over and see her, but I won't let him."

"Why not, my lady? I should like to see my own flesh and blood."

"Well, then, you won't," snapped Miss Berengaria. "And don't you tell Victoria the boy is with me, or I'll discharge him."

"So Mr. Grant said, my lady. He having told me as Jerry was page to your ladyship."

"Hum! It's none of Mr. Grant's business. I can manage my own affairs without his a.s.sistance. Come along and show me to a room where I can put my hair tidy; it's blown about by the wind. And see that the coachman feeds the horses. He's a fool."

"I'll see to it, my lady. And Victoria----?"

"Hold your tongue about Victoria."

"I will, my lady. Come this way, my lady," and Mrs. Moon plunged along the corridor with little Miss Berengaria trotting briskly at her heels.

She looked like a c.o.c.k-boat following in the wake of a three-decker. And all the time she scolded the meek giantess.

While Mrs. Moon was thus suffering, the lovers were talking eagerly in the sitting-room, where the table was already laid for luncheon.

Victoria had departed, so they had the apartment to themselves, and for the moment, in spite of the depressing surrounding circ.u.mstances, they were absolutely happy.

"Dearest," said Bernard, taking the girl's hand, "I have hungered for this moment. Alice, you are more beautiful than ever."

"Darling! But, Bernard, I have a confession to make. I really thought for a moment that you were guilty."

"Alice, how could you?"

Her eyes filled with tears. "I was mad to doubt you, dearest, but I did.

I thought you might have lost your temper with----"

"Ah!" groaned Gore, "my terrible temper. But when did you come to think me innocent, Alice?"

"Almost immediately. My aunt laughed at the idea that you had killed Sir Simon. She always stood up for you, and scolded me."

"I think you deserved it," said Gore, playfully. "However, I forgive you. The evidence against me is so strong that I don't wonder you believed I was----"

"No, Bernard, no. You loved me, and in the face of everything I should never have credited you with the commission of this crime. But you forgive me, don't you, dear?" she added, nestling to his heart.

"Of course I do," replied Gore, and sealed his forgiveness with a kiss.

"So long as you believe me to be innocent now."

"I do--I do. I wonder that I could have doubted you. Lord Conniston never doubted you, nor did Mr. Durham, nor my aunt. It was only I who--oh dear me! How wicked of me."

"Alice"--he kissed away her tears--"say no more. The circ.u.mstances were enough to shake your faith in me, especially when you knew I had such a bad temper. And I have it still," sighed Gore, sadly; "even now in spite of all my trouble I am impatient."

"Wait, wait! All will be well."

"I can't see how I am to win free of the trouble, Alice dear."

"None of us can see, Bernard. But we are in G.o.d's hands. He will help us. See, He has given you a refuge here till your innocence is proved."

"And how long will I keep this refuge?" said Gore, gloomily. "If that young imp Judas learns from Victoria that I am here----"

"Then you can escape to another place. But, Bernard, I have something to tell you." Alice looked round and took a letter out of her pocket cautiously. "This is from Julius. He says that he saw you in London."

"Ah!" Bernard read the letter hurriedly. "My double--my half-brother, Michael."

"Your half-brother! I never knew you had one."

"Nor did I, till Durham found it out from Mrs. Gilroy."

The next ten minutes was taken up by Bernard in explaining what the lawyer had learned from Mrs. Gilroy. Alice was extremely astonished and interested, and quite agreed that it was possible the half-brother might be the guilty person. "And it explains Mrs. Gilroy's accusation of you,"

said Alice, thoughtfully.

"Without doubt. Mrs. Gilroy never liked me. But do you believe Michael is the real heir?"

"No," said Alice, firmly. "Mrs. Gilroy would have claimed the money and the t.i.tle for her son had there been a true marriage. There is something wrong, Bernard. I don't know what it is, but I feel sure that Mrs.

Gilroy is not so secure about her position as she pretends to be."

"Well," said Bernard, putting the letter into his pocket, "Durham will tell us what she says."

Then occurred one of those coincidences which occur in real life quite as often as they do in novels. Durham suddenly entered the room, looking disturbed. He saluted Alice, then turned to his client--"Mrs. Gilroy!"

he exclaimed.

"What of her?" asked Gore. "Has she confessed?"

"She has left the Hall, and no one knows where she is!"

CHAPTER XV

THE PAST OF ALICE

The lovers stared at Durham when he made this startling announcement, for startling it was, considering how necessary Mrs. Gilroy's evidence was to procure the freedom of Gore. He sat down wiping his face--for he had ridden over post-haste--and looked excessively chagrined.

"When did she go?" asked Bernard, who was the first to find his voice.

"Goodness knows," replied the lawyer in vexed tones. "She left early this morning without saying she was going. Miss Randolph heard the news at breakfast. One of the grooms stated that he had seen Mrs. Gilroy driving in a farmer's trap to the station at Postleigh, about seven o'clock."