"Your husband!" I exclaimed in consternation, forgetting Emilius, forgetting everything except the papers I had found in the secret drawer, and which I had left loose upon the writing-table. "Yes," said Mrs. Carew. "When he came in alone he had to pass the study on his way to our room. The door was open, and he went in. I did not dare to disturb him. All is so still within that I think he is asleep. Tell me, dear friend--has anything happened outside?" "Nothing of the nature you dread," I replied. "Thank you," she murmured. I opened the study door and entered, and sitting at the writing-table, with his hand upon the revelation made by his father, was Gabriel Carew, in a profound slumber. "He has slept thus frequently," whispered Mrs. Carew, who had followed me into the room, "until late in the day." "Leave us together," I said. She obeyed me, and I stood by Carew's side and gazed at him and the papers. There was deep suffering on his face, strangely contrasted with an expression of resolution and content. What this portended I had yet to learn. XXIII. It was not till at least an hour afterwards that I remembered the promise I had given to Emilius. Carew still slept, and had not stirred from the position in which I had found him. Two or three times I made a gentle effort to remove from beneath his hand the papers I had found in the secret drawer, but as my design could not be accomplished without violence, I abandoned it. There was no doubt in my mind that he had read them, and his tenacious hold upon them denoted that he had formed some strong resolution with respect to them. With the intention of fulfilling my promise to Emilius, I softly left the room. Mrs. Carew, sitting in a room above with Mildred, heard my movements, and swiftly and noiselessly glided down the stairs. In a low tone I made her acquainted with what had passed between me and Emilius, and I perceived that she was not unprepared for Emilius's demand for an interview. When I repeated to her Emilius's words, "Tell her she has nothing to fear from me, and that the faith I have in her will not allow me to believe that she will conspire to rob my life of the one joy it contains for me," she clasped her hands across her eyes, and remained so for a little while. "It is his due," she said, but though she strove to speak calmly she could not control her trembling voice and quivering lips; "I must see him." "When?" I asked. "I cannot at this moment decide," she replied. "I must have time to reflect. Meanwhile, there lies our first care." She pointed to the study in which her husband slept. "You understand that he is determined to see you before another day and night have passed?" "Yes, I understand." "How is Mildred?" "Bright and well, with the exception that she is concerned about me. She suspects nothing." "It is better so. Trouble comes soon enough."