“I’m afraid we haven’t such a thing in the house,” she said. “A friend of Mr. Bradfield’s has just arrived from town unexpectedly, so we have been running our eyes over the stores to see what we could give him to eat to stave off his hunger until Mr. Bradfield comes home to luncheon.” “Who is it, mother?” asked Chris, in whom Mrs. Abercarne noted this curiosity as a sign that Lilith’s visit had done her good. “Oh, the unfortunate person who sprained his ankle on Christmas day.” “Mr. Marrable!” Chris clasped her hands with a fresh access of excitement. “Mother, let me see him at once. Do let me.” Both the other ladies were a good deal surprised at this demand, and the vehemence with which it was expressed. But there was no resisting her importunity; and therefore, as soon as Lilith had reluctantly taken her departure, Mr. Marrable, as shy and nervous as ever, was shown up into the Chinese-room. He expressed his delight at the honour Miss Abercarne had done him by admitting him, and was proceeding to utter some old-fashioned compliments which he had been preparing on the way upstairs, when Chris, by a look at her mother, induced that lady to leave the room. Then the girl turned to Mr. Marrable, and exhibited a sudden energy which startled that rather flaccid gentleman. “Mr. Marrable,” she said imperiously, “I have heard you talk of an old friend of yours and Mr. Bradfield’s, named Gilbert Wryde.” At the mention of the name, Mr. Marrable started violently. “Yes, yes, er--er--I may have mentioned him; I say I may have mentioned him,” he answered feebly, looking round as if he hoped to find a way of escape. “This Gilbert Wryde had a son, I think you said?” “Oh, my goodness!” murmured poor Mr. Marrable; and then, seeing that she was determined, he admitted that he might have mentioned that too. “Tell me, and tell me the truth, mind,” continued the young girl, earnestly, “when you knew that son, years ago that was, of course, when he was a child, was there anything the matter with him?” Mr. Marrable stared at her piteously, as if feeling he could hope for no mercy from this excited female. “Nothing,” murmured he feebly, “nothing of any consequence, that is to say, beyond, of course, being deaf and dumb.” To his horror, the young lady sprang up with a wild cry, clasping her hands as if she had received a revelation. “Deaf--and--dumb!” And, uttering these words, she sank back fainting on the sofa. CHAPTER XXXI. BLACKMAIL. Poor Mr. Marrable was very much frightened by the effect of his words upon Chris. He rushed to the door of the room, and summoned Mrs. Abercarne with frantic cries. But before her mother could reach the room, Chris had entirely recovered her self-command under the influence of a strong feeling of relief, and when Mr. Marrable went downstairs to await John Bradfield’s return, she was brighter and less listless than she had been since her illness.