"I must hasten home," she returned, beginning to move away. "Mrs. Chandos cannot be left for long. I have run all the way back from the post, and I ran to it." What a strangely persevering man that Edwin Barley seemed to be! If Mrs. Penn knew—as she evidently did know—the dark secrets of the Chandos family, what might he not get out of her? I nearly made up my mind to inform Mr. Chandos. Alas for me! for my poor courage! Turning a sharp corner by the alcove to go home, I came upon him standing there; Edwin Barley. Was he waiting for me, or for Mrs. Penn? But she had gone by the other path. It was too late to retreat. I essayed to do it, but he placed himself in my way. "Not so fast, young lady. I have been expecting you to come up: I saw you in the distance, and waited to exchange a word with you. Why! you won't be so discourteous as to refuse!" "I cannot stay now, thank you." "Oh, yes, you can—when I wish it. I want to inquire after the health of the family. There's no getting anything out of anybody: they 'can't tell me how my lady is, save from hearsay;' they 'never see her,' they 'see nearly as little of Mr. Chandos.' You and I can be more confidential." "No, we cannot, sir. I never see Lady Chandos, any more than others do." "Which you cannot say of Mr. Harry; you see rather much of him," retorted Mr. Edwin Barley, with a parting of the lips that showed the subject vexed him. "You and he are together always—as the news is brought to me." "Did Mrs. Penn tell you that?" I asked, my colour and my anger rising together. "Mrs. Penn!" "The lady you have just parted with," I answered, supposing he did not know her by name. "Mrs. Chandos's companion? _She's_ none too civil to me. You had a visit from the mounted police last evening; an unexpected one, rumour runs. Did their sudden appearance confound Mr. Harry Chandos?" How he seemed to know things! Did he get them from mere rumour, or from Lizzy Dene? I remained silent. "Did they bring, I ask, confusion to Mr. Chandos? Did he exhibit the aspect, the terror, of one who—who has been guilty of some great crime, and dreads to expiate, it?" "I cannot tell you, sir." "You were with him, I know that much," he returned, in the same commanding, angry, imperative tone of voice I had once heard him use to my aunt Selina. "But what if I was? I cannot say how Mr. Chandos felt or thought." "You _can_—if you choose. I asked you how he looked; what his manner betrayed: not what he felt or thought." Loving _him_ as I did, bound to his interests, could I be otherwise than on my guard? Nevertheless there must have been that in my tone and look that carried doubt to Mr. Edwin Barley. "Mr. Chandos spoke to the officers quite calmly, sir. They were admitted at once, and he invited them into the sitting-room."