“Indeed,” said Mistress Betty, colder than ever, some new thought working within her, judging from the tone. “And yet you leave to-morrow, and have never been to Carlunnan.” She said the last words with a hesitancy, blushing most warmly. To me they were a dark mystery, unless I was to assume, what I did wildly for a moment, only to relinquish the notion immediately, that she had been in the humour to go visiting her friends with him. Mover’s face showed some curious emotion that it baffled me to read, and all that was plain to me was that here were two people with a very strong thought of a distressing kind between them. “It would be idle for me,” he said in a little, “to deny that I know what you mean. But do you not believe you might be doing me poor justice in your suspicions?” “It is a topic I cannot come closer upon,” she answered; “I am a woman. That forbids me and that same compels me. If nature does not demand your attendance up there, then you are a man wronged by rumour or a man dead to every sense of the human spirit I have listened to your humour and laughed at your banter, for you have an art to make people forget; but all the way I have been finding my lightness broken in on by the feeble cry of a child without a mother--it seems, too, without a father.” “If that is the trouble,” he said, turning away with a smile he did not succeed in concealing either from the lady or me, “you may set your mind at rest The child you mention has, from this day, what we may be calling a godfather.” “Then the tale’s true?” she said, stopping on the road, turning and gazing with neither mirth nor warmth in her countenance. M’Iver hesitated, and looked upon the woman to me as if I could help him in the difficulty; but I must have seemed a clown in the very abjection of my ignorance of what all this mystery was about He searched my face and I searched my memory, and then I recollected that he had told me before of Mistress Brown’s suspicions of the paternity of the child. “I could well wish your answer came more readily,” said she again, somewhat bitterly, “for then I know it would be denial.” “And perhaps untruth, too,” said John, oddly. “This time it’s a question of honour, a far more complicated turn of circumstances than you can fancy, and my answer takes time.” “Guilty!” she cried, “and you go like this. You know what the story is, and your whole conduct in front of my charges shows you take the very lightest view of the whole horrible crime.” “Say away, madame,” said M’Iver, assuming an indifference his every feature gave the lie to. “I’m no better nor no worse than the rest of the world. That’s all I’ll say.” “You have said enough for me, then,” said the girl. “I think, Elrigmore, if you please, I’ll not trouble you and your friend to come farther with me now. I am obliged for your society so far.”