“Begging your pardon, sir,” said Moody, “I don’t quite agree with you there.” “What! you don’t mean to tell me you understand that oracular sentence of his--‘Suspect the very last person on whom suspicion could possibly fall.’ Rubbish!” “I don’t say I understand it, sir. I only say it has set me thinking.” “Thinking of what? Do your suspicions point to the thief?” “If you will please to excuse me, Mr. Troy, I should like to wait a while before I answer that.” Mr. Troy suddenly stood still, and eyed his companion a little distrustfully. “Are you going to turn detective-policeman on your own account?” he asked. “There’s nothing I won’t turn to, and try, to help Miss Isabel in this matter,” Moody answered, firmly. “I have saved a few hundred pounds in Lady Lydiard’s service, and I am ready to spend every farthing of it, if I can only discover the thief.” Mr. Troy walked on again. “Miss Isabel seems to have a good friend in you,” he said. He was (perhaps unconsciously) a little offended by the independent tone in which the steward spoke, after he had himself engaged to take the vindication of the girl’s innocence into his own hands. “Miss Isabel has a devoted servant and slave in me!” Moody answered, with passionate enthusiasm. “Very creditable; I haven’t a word to say against it,” Mr. Troy rejoined. “But don’t forget that the young lady has other devoted friends besides you. I am her devoted friend, for instance--I have promised to serve her, and I mean to keep my word. You will excuse me for adding that my experience and discretion are quite as likely to be useful to her as your enthusiasm. I know the world well enough to be careful in trusting strangers. It will do you no harm, Mr. Moody, to follow my example.” Moody accepted his reproof with becoming patience and resignation. “If you have anything to propose, sir, that will be of service to Miss Isabel,” he said, “I shall be happy if I can assist you in the humblest capacity.” “And if not?” Mr. Troy inquired, conscious of having nothing to propose as he asked the question. “In that case, sir, I must take my own course, and blame nobody but myself if it leads me astray.” Mr. Troy said no more: he parted from Moody at the next turning. Pursuing the subject privately in his own mind, he decided on taking the earliest opportunity of visiting Isabel at her aunt’s house, and on warning her, in her future intercourse with Moody, not to trust too much to the steward’s discretion. “I haven’t a doubt,” thought the lawyer, “of what he means to do next. The infatuated fool is going back to Old Sharon!” CHAPTER X. RETURNING to his office, Mr. Troy discovered, among the correspondence that was waiting for him, a letter from the very person whose welfare was still the uppermost subject in his mind. Isabel Miller wrote in these terms: