If he had felt any doubt of Susan Fielding, the lingering look of wonder on her face dispelled it. No woman, be she ever so clever, could assume such an expression. “I cannot think how it could be,” she said. “I remember the day so well. There was a large party, and they all rode out together. My lady returned and asked for some tea. I went downstairs to attend to it, and she sat down in the music-room with three or four ladies; they took tea there. Then she went to her room. I followed her. I said, ‘There is a packet on the table, my lady. Sir Ronald Alden’s groom brought it.’ Lady Hermione smiled very indifferently. ‘I have seen it,’ she replied; and I do not remember, Sir Ronald, from that hour to this, hearing the subject mentioned, except when Mr. Conyers spoke of it the other day.” “Then you can tell me nothing about it?” he asked, with a look of keen disappointment. “No; I cannot. I was away from Lady Hermione’s room half an hour, not more, and it must have been changed in that time, if it were changed at all.” “You saw no one enter the room?” “No, Sir Ronald; not that I remember.” “I shall expect you to keep most perfect silence concerning this inquiry,” said Sir Ronald. “I cannot make it public or I would. Remember, that if you can find out anything which will bring the mystery to light, I will give you, not fifty, but a hundred pounds.” “I will do my best,” she replied; “but I have not much hope. If it were done by any person in the house they took such precaution as would insure its never being known.” But as Sir Ronald walked away a peculiar expression flashed into the woman’s face, one of wonder, surprise and pain. “What is it?” asked the groom. “Do you remember anything?” “No,” she replied; but her voice was peculiar, and during the remainder of the walk home Susan Fielding spoke never a word. CHAPTER XXVI. AFTER NIGHT, MORNING. From that time Sir Ronald Alden changed so completely that he was hardly to be recognized as the same man. He ceased to struggle for content; he said to himself that a curse was upon him, and he must live under it while it pleased Heaven that he should live at all; but the happiest moment that life held in store for him would be the one that held death--the moment that would bring the woman he loved to his side to look at him for the last time. He was young, and life ran full, warm and rich in his veins, yet he would have gladly laid it down to have brought her for only one moment to his side, so great and passionate was his love for her. Lady Clarice could not fail to notice the change. She comforted herself by thinking that the Aldens were a strange race, not governed by the same laws as other men, subject to moods and passions that required indulgence. She never dreamed that he had met Lady Hermione, and that his new sorrow was caused by the constant smart of knowing that life might have been different for him. “Ronald,” she said to him one day, “has life any interest for you?”