Rudolph considered her for a few silent minutes. It was then that she uttered the words which reached Mrs. Dale’s ears, and startled while they comforted the unhappy woman: “I don’t care--I don’t care what she’s done. She is a sweet woman, and I love her all the more for having to be preached to by that old cat.” And then she noticed that she and her companion were standing rather near an open window, and she walked quickly back to the lawn and the elm trees. “What old cat?” “Didn’t you see her? A tall woman with a face carved in marble. She was driving away as you came back.” “I didn’t see much of her. Do you know who she is?” “No. She’s a ‘ladyship,’ from what the maid said. And she looks like one, which ladyships hardly ever do. That’s all I know.” “A relation of Mrs. Dale’s, I suppose?” “Ye-e-s, I suppose so, from the things she said. But oh! Mrs. Dale has never done anything to deserve such a relation as that!” “Poor thing! No. But one can’t help feeling curious.” “I can help it,” cried Mabin stoutly. “I know how these spiteful old women make mountains out of molehills, and I will never believe that it isn’t a molehill in this case after all.” Rudolph looked at her curiously. “Do you know who it is that has taken your father’s house?” he asked in a dry tone. “Yes, a Mr. Banks. He came this morning, as soon as papa and mamma were out of the house.” “And do you know anything about him? Is he a friend of your father’s?” “No. He was looking for a furnished house down here, and heard that we wanted to let ours. It was all arranged through his solicitor and papa’s. He is an invalid, I believe, come here for change of air. Why do you ask?” “Because I was in the lane between your garden and this just before I came here, and I saw a man walking along the grass path, and recognized him as the man I found watching Mrs. Dale a fortnight ago. There’s a secret for you, in return for yours.” Mabin looked frightened. She remembered her own suspicions that the man who had presented himself as Mr. Banks was an impostor. “What was he like?” she asked. “He was very thin and pale, and he looked like a gentleman. I could hardly tell whether he was old or young.” “Perhaps,” she faltered, “he isn’t Mr. Banks at all!” Rudolph did not answer immediately. Then he said slowly: “I wonder what he has come for?” Mabin stared at him stupidly. As they stood silent in the quiet garden, they both heard a slight rustling of the leaves, a cracking of the branches, near the wall which divided the garden from the lane. CHAPTER VII. A STRANGE FANCY. “What was that?” asked Mabin with a shiver. She and Rudolph had both turned instinctively toward the spot from which the rustling noise had come. “A cat, most likely,” answered Rudolph. But Mabin shook her head. “I saw something,” whispered she. “It was not a cat, it was not an animal at all; it was a man.”