She remembered that William had come to her with a grave face and a thousand apologies, confessing that he had lost the letter. At first she had felt uneasy about the loss; but as time passed on, and the romantic attachment on both sides began to cool, the circumstance faded out of her mind. She had never for a moment suspected William Greystock of anything like treachery, and the revelation of his base conduct to me came as a shock. Then followed kind messages to Mrs. Hepburne—regrets for the suffering that had arisen—hopes for my future happiness. And so the matter ended. So, also, ended all intercourse between Miss Lorimer and ourselves. She never met us again; and I felt sure that she avoided a meeting with infinite pains and care. Heartless as she was, I believe she had grace enough to be ashamed of the part she had played at the Richmond picnic. And although she never confessed the fact, I was certain that Greystock's subtle influence had made her act as she did that day. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XIX. THE OLD ALBUM. I CAME downstairs two days after my reconciliation with my husband, and was received affectionately by the good rector. Lady Waterville, too, was so moved by the account of my illness that she actually exerted herself enough to write a kind note, saying that she had quite forgiven me and taken me back again into favour. The sudden death of William Greystock had shaken her nerves; life was short; and she wanted to be at peace with all those whom she had ever known and loved. She added that, among her poor nephew's effects, there had been found an album which had been given by Inez Greystock to her sister, Estella Hepburne. The book was full of scraps of prose and verse, all in the handwriting of the ill-fated Inez, and the name of Estella was written on the fly-leaf, followed by an urgent injunction to her husband to place the volume in Mrs. Hepburne's hands if Inez were the first to die. The Colonel had, no doubt, instructed William Greystock to fulfil that earnest request; and William (for reasons of his own) had failed to obey him. "We have so few relics of your aunt Inez that we shall value that album," I said to Ronald. "Yes," he answered, thoughtfully. "But what a strange fellow Greystock was! What possible motive could he have had for keeping a book which was useless to him?" "He was full of mysteries, Ronald; let us try to banish him from our thoughts entirely," I said, with an involuntary shudder. "As soon as we return to London, you shall call on Lady Waterville, and get the album. I long to see it—I think it may tell us more of Aunt Inez than we have ever yet known."