Miss Merivale had dropped her work, and was staring at Pauline with wide-open, terrified eyes. She made no effort to answer her. She was incapable of speech. “What have I said?” repeated Pauline. She got up and came close to Miss Merivale, kneeling down beside her. “You are angry with me. I have hurt you. Is it possible that Rhoda is your niece, and that you do not want her to know it? But you must trust me. Please trust me, Miss Merivale.” Miss Merivale put her hand up to her eyes. She spoke in a stunned voice. Pauline’s words had suddenly torn away the veil which had hidden the meaning of her own conduct from her. “Yes, Rhoda is my niece,” she said. “She is my sister Lydia’s little girl. What made you guess it?” Pauline was slightly taken aback at this speech of Miss Merivale’s. She had not expected her to admit the truth so readily. “Miss Merivale, you must trust me,” she said in a low, eager voice. “I understand exactly why you want it to be a secret. No one shall ever know from me.” Miss Merivale pushed her chair back, freeing herself from the touch of Pauline’s hands. A shock of repulsion had gone through her. “It will be no secret after to-day,” she said in the same stunned, heavy voice. “I shall tell Tom this afternoon. I ought to have told him before.” Tom came home late in the afternoon. He expected to find that his aunt and the girls had all gone to Bingley woods, and he only went to the house to change his riding boots before going to meet them. He passed through the archway in the yew hedge, marking with tender, happy eyes the exact spot where Rhoda had stood that morning while they talked together. His feet lingered a little as he went down the turf path to the house. Everything in the garden spoke to him of Rhoda, and it was in the garden he had seen her first. He went through the open window of the library and across the hall. As he reached the foot of the stairs he was surprised to hear his aunt’s voice. She was standing at the drawing-room door, with her hand resting heavily on the jamb. It was with difficulty she had crossed the room to call him on hearing his step. Her limbs were trembling under her. “I thought you had all gone to Bingley woods,” Tom exclaimed. “Have the others gone?” “Yes; I would not let them stay at home. I was feeling too tired to go.” “You caught cold yesterday in the porch,” Tom said in a playful scolding voice. “You do want a lot of looking after, Aunt Lucy. Have you a fire? The wind is keen, though the sun is so bright. Here, let me make a better fire than this.”