And his face twitched; from between his closed teeth there came a sort of strangled sob, the sound which in Theodore had roused his contempt. He remembered the smile which had come into her eyes when he came by, the word of thanks with which she had slipped the letter into his hand, and run indoors. He remembered that a scent of lavender had come to him as she passed, that he had felt a thrill at the sound, the sight of her flying skirts as she fled into the house. Oh! it was not possible that she could have done this thing, she who was so proud, so pure, so tender to her friends! And Bram stopped in the middle of the road, with an upward bound of the heart, and told himself that the thing was a lie. What a base wretch he was to have harbored such a thought of her! She was gone; but what proof had they but their own mean and base suspicions that she had not gone alone? And Bram by a strong effort threw off the dark cloud which was pressing down upon his soul, or at least lifted one corner of it, and strode down towards the office resolved to trust, to hope, in spite of everything. At the office everything was reassuringly normal in the daily routine. And, by a great and unceasing effort, Bram had really got himself to hold his opinions on the one great subject in suspense, when a carriage drove up to the door, and a few minutes later young Mrs. Christian, with a face which betrayed that she was suffering from acute distress, came into the office. As soon as she saw Bram, she stopped on her way through. “No,” she said quickly to the clerk who was leading her through to the private office of Mr. Cornthwaite, “it is Mr. Elshaw I want to see. Please, can I speak to you?” Bram felt the heavy weight settling at once on his heart again. He followed her in silence into the office. Mr. Cornthwaite had not yet arrived. As soon as the door was shut, and they were alone, she broke out in a tremulous voice, not free from pettishness-- “Mr. Elshaw, I wanted to see you because I feel sure you will not deceive me. And all the rest try to. Mr. and Mrs. Cornthwaite, and my sister-in-law, and my own people, and everybody. You live near Duke’s Farm? Tell me, is Miss Claire Biron at home with her father, or--or has she gone away?” “I believe, Mrs. Christian, she has gone away.” The young wife did not cry; she frowned. “I knew it!” she said sharply. “They pretended they did not know; but I knew it, I felt sure of it. Mr. Elshaw, she has gone away with my husband!” “Oh, but how can you be sure? How----” “Mr. Elshaw, don’t trifle with me. You know the truth as well as I do. Not one day has passed since our marriage without Christian’s flaunting this girl and her perfections in my face; not one day has passed since our return from abroad without his either seeing her or making an effort to see her. Oh, I daresay you will say it was mean; but I have had him watched, and he has been at the farm at Hessel every day!”