But the attitude and appearance of Mrs. Cumberland riveted her to the spot. Her face, never so grey as now, as seen in the moonlight, was raised to her son's, its expression one of yearning agony; her hands were lifted as if imploring some boon, or warding off some fear. Jelly's eyes opened to their utmost width, and in her astonishment she failed to catch the purport of the first low-breathed words. "I tell you, you are mistaken, mother," said Dr. Rane in answer, his own voice ringing out clearly enough in the still night; though it nevertheless bore a hushed tone. "Is it probable? Is it likely? _I_ drop the copy of the letter out of my pocketbook! What next will you suppose me capable of?" "But--Oliver,"--and the voice was raised a little--"how else could it have been found upon her carpet?" "I have my theory about that," he rejoined with decision. "Mother, come home: I will tell you more then. Is this a fitting time or place to have thus attacked me?" Air, voice, action, were sharp, with authority, as he bent and took her hand. Mrs. Cumberland, saying something about "having been surprised into speaking," rose from the bench. Jelly watched them along the road; and then sat down on the bench herself to recover her amazement. "What on earth docs it mean?" Ah! what did it mean? Jelly was pretty sharp, but she was afraid to give full range to her thoughts. Other steps fell on her ear. They proved to be those of Mr. Alexander. "Is it you, Jelly! Waiting for your sweetheart?" Jelly rose. "Standing about to look at funerals, and such things, tires one worse than a ten-mile run." "Then why do you do it?" "One fool makes many," returned Jelly with composure. "Sir, I'd like to know who wrote that letter." "It strikes me the letter was written by a woman." "A woman!" echoed Jelly, in genuine surprise. "Good gracious, Mr. Alexander!" "They are go sharp upon us at times, are women," he continued, smiling. "Men don't attack one another." "And what woman do you suspect, sir?" cried Jelly, in her insatiable curiosity. "Ah! there's the rub. I have been speaking of women in general, you see. Perhaps it was you?" "_Me!_" exclaimed Jelly. Mr. Alexander laughed. "I was only joking, Jelly. Goodnight." But Jelly, sharp Jelly, rather thought he had not been joking, and that the suspicion had slipped out inadvertently. She went straight home. And when she arrived there, Mrs. Cumberland was seated by the drawing-room fire, her face calm and still as usual, listening to the low sweet singing of Ellen Adair. And Oliver Rane had passed in to his own house with his weight of care. Half wishing that he could exchange places with Edmund North in Dallory churchyard. CHAPTER VII. AFTER THE FUNERAL.