"Yes!" There seemed no help for it. "I saw him madam, but I shall not mention it. The secret is safe with me." "You saw him! Oh, heaven, what will be done?" she cried, in evident distress. "It was so once before: the servants saw him. You must not tell any one; you must not." "Indeed I will not. I am quite trustworthy." "What are you doing out here?" she sharply said. "Looking for him?" "Indeed no. I was dull by myself, and came across unthinkingly. I am as true as you, Mrs. Chandos. I would not, for the world, say a word to harm him." The assurance seemed to satisfy—to calm her; she grew quiet as a little child. "To talk of it might cause grievous evil, you know; it might lead to—but I had better not say more to a stranger. How did you come to know of it?" I made no answer. Some feeling, that I did not stay to sift, forbade me to say it was from himself. "I know; it was from Madame de Mellissie. It was very foolish of her to tell you. It was wrong of her to bring you here at all." As Mrs. Chandos spoke, there was something in her words, in her tone, in her manner altogether, that caused a worse idea to flash across me—that she was not quite herself. Not insane; it was not that thought; but a little wanting in intellect; as if the powers of mind were impaired. It startled me beyond measure, and I began to think that I ought to try and get her indoors. "Shall you not take cold out her, Mrs. Chandos?" "I never take cold. You see, I am my own mistress now: when Mrs. Freeman's here, she will never let me come out after dusk. Lady Chandos sent my maid to sit with me this evening, but I lay down on the sofa, and told her I was perhaps going to sleep and she could not stay with me. And I came out; I thought I might see _him_." Every word she spoke added to the impression. "And so you saw him last night! I did not; I never do. The windows looking this way are closed. And perhaps if I were to see him like that, and be taken by surprise, it might make me ill: Mrs. Freeman says it would. It is so sad, you know!" "Very sad," I murmured, assuming still that she alluded to the infirmity of Mr. Chandos. "They never told me. They are not aware that I know it. I found it out to-day. I was going about the gallery early this morning, before Hill came home, and I found it out. When Mrs. Freeman's here, I can only get out when she pleases. You cannot think what a long time it is since—since——" "Since what?" I asked, as she came to a stop. "Since the last time. Harry has not said a word to me all day; it is a shame of him. He ought to have told _me_." "Yes, yes," I murmured, wishing to soothe her. "You see, Harry's not friends with me. He tells me he is, but he is not in reality. It is through my having treated him badly: he has been the same as a stranger ever since. But he ought to have told me this. You must not tell them that I know it." "Certainly not."