To show all hospitable attentions, to place an arm-chair for her guest, and even, as she appeared weary, to entreat her to put aside her bonnet and mantle--seemed quite natural to Miss Bowen, just as if they had been friends of years. Anne thanked her courteously, let her do what she would--but all the while looked anxiously at Nathanael. “You know we have much to say. Is she aware of what I told you?” “Not yet; I could not tell her; it shocked me so. Oh, my poor uncle!” Agatha, who was unfastening her guest's cloak, turned round. “What, your Uncle Brian? Has anything happened? You speak almost as if he were dead.” Anne Valery shivered. “Dead! God forbid!” cried the young man, more deeply moved than his betrothed had ever seen him. “But we have had ill news. He went as interpreter on a Government mission, as he had often done before; he was so popular among the Indians. But from some treachery shown them, the tribe grew enraged and carried him off prisoner. Heaven only knows if they have spared his life. But I think--I feel they will. He was so just to the red men always. He is surely safe.” “Yes, he is safe,” repeated Miss Valery, as if any alternative but that were utterly incredible and impossible. Nathanael continued: “The tidings reached Kingcombe yesterday, and our friend here, coming to London, volunteered to bring them, and consult with me. If there is any good deed to be done, it is sure to be done by Anne Valery,” added Nathanael, stretching out his hand to hers. She took it without speaking, being apparently much exhausted. And now that her bonnet was off, and she sitting near the lamp, Agatha discerned that Miss Valery was by no means young or beautiful. At all events, she was at that time in an unmarried woman's life when it ceases to signify whether she is handsome or not. Her hair at first seemed brown, but on looking closer, there appeared on either side the parting broad silvery lines, as if two snow-laden hands laid on the head had smoothed it down, leaving it shining still. Agatha turned from her passing examination of Miss Valery to the subject in question, evidently so painful to her betrothed. “You two wish to consult together? Do so. Pray stay here. I am very sorry for your trouble, Mr. Harper. Anything that I can do for you or your friend, you know”--and her voice dropped softly--“it is my duty now.” Nathanael looked at her, as if longing to clasp her to his heart and say how happy he was; but he restrained himself and let his eyes alone declare what he felt. They were very eloquent. While this passed between the young people, the elder lady arose from her chair; quietness seemed painful to her. “Nathanael, every minute is precious to anxiety such as you must feel. Have you thought what had better be done, since you are the right person to do it?” “As yet I have thought of nothing. And, alas! what _can_ be done?”