Mr. Raunham and Edward Springrove had by this time set in motion a machinery which they hoped to find working out important results. The rector was restless and full of meditation all the following morning. It was plain, even to the servants about him, that Springrove’s communication wore a deeper complexion than any that had been made to the old magistrate for many months or years past. The fact was that, having arrived at the stage of existence in which the difficult intellectual feat of suspending one’s judgment becomes possible, he was now putting it in practice, though not without the penalty of watchful effort. It was not till the afternoon that he determined to call on his relative, Miss Aldclyffe, and cautiously probe her knowledge of the subject occupying him so thoroughly. Cytherea, he knew, was still beloved by this solitary woman. Miss Aldclyffe had made several private inquiries concerning her former companion, and there was ever a sadness in her tone when the young lady’s name was mentioned, which showed that from whatever cause the elder Cytherea’s renunciation of her favourite and namesake proceeded, it was not from indifference to her fate. ‘Have you ever had any reason for supposing your steward anything but an upright man?’ he said to the lady. ‘Never the slightest. Have you?’ said she reservedly. ‘Well--I have.’ ‘What is it?’ ‘I can say nothing plainly, because nothing is proved. But my suspicions are very strong.’ ‘Do you mean that he was rather cool towards his wife when they were first married, and that it was unfair in him to leave her? I know he was; but I think his recent conduct towards her has amply atoned for the neglect.’ He looked Miss Aldclyffe full in the face. It was plain that she spoke honestly. She had not the slightest notion that the woman who lived with the steward might be other than Mrs. Manston--much less that a greater matter might be behind. ‘That’s not it--I wish it was no more. My suspicion is, first, that the woman living at the Old House is not Mr. Manston’s wife.’ ‘Not--Mr. Manston’s wife?’ ‘That is it.’ Miss Aldclyffe looked blankly at the rector. ‘Not Mr. Manston’s wife--who else can she be?’ she said simply. ‘An improper woman of the name of Anne Seaway.’ Mr. Raunham had, in common with other people, noticed the extraordinary interest of Miss Aldclyffe in the well-being of her steward, and had endeavoured to account for it in various ways. The extent to which she was shaken by his information, whilst it proved that the understanding between herself and Manston did not make her a sharer of his secrets, also showed that the tie which bound her to him was still unbroken. Mr. Raunham had lately begun to doubt the latter fact, and now, on finding himself mistaken, regretted that he had not kept his own counsel in the matter. This it was too late to do, and he pushed on with his proofs. He gave Miss Aldclyffe in detail the grounds of his belief.