"It is what she says, Miss Sara. I told her it must be one of two things--either that she was deceiving me in saying it, or that she was herself deceived. But she insists upon it that she is his true and lawful wife; that she was married to him nearly twelve months before he went abroad. She says my late master, Dr. Davenal, knew of it." Sara stared at Neal in a sort of helpless manner. Never for a moment did it occur to her to question the truth; her mind accepted it--a terrible calamity; worse, it seemed in this moment, than all that had gone before. "She came here this morning in consequence of hearing of the Captain's marriage to Miss Reid. I acknowledged that news had come home to that effect. It would have been quite useless, you see, Miss Sara, to deny what's known publicly." "Neal! Neal! you will not mention this?" came the feverish wish, the first uttered in her bewilderment. "You will guard it faithfully? We--I--some one must see what can be done." "You may entirely depend on me, Miss Sara," replied Neal, speaking more impressively than was his wont--Neal the impassive. "Of course, miss, the chief thing will be to guard against exposure." Sara turned into the dining-room, mind and body alike sinking. A sick, faint fear came over her that _this_ must be the secret connected with her brother which had been disclosed that long past night to Dr. Davenal. Another moment, and she did not see how that could be. There would have been no _crime_ in it: Captain Davenal was not married then. Her brain was in a chaos of perplexity, her mind agitated with doubt. If this young woman--lady--whatever she might be--was Edward's wife, how could he have married Rose Reid? Was it the money tempted him? Calm, self-controlled though she was usually, a groan of despair broke from her lips. Neal in the back room thought she called him, and came round to the dining-room door. She looked up as he stood there and stared at him, just as though she had forgotten who he was. "Did you call, Miss Sara?" "I--I--I did not call. Neal--do you know--what the name is?--I mean--what it _was?_" "Yes, miss, I know so much as that. Catherine Wentworth." He retired, leaving Sara alone. Almost a rebellious thought was stealing over her--was she _never_ to be at rest? Not at much rest just then certainly; for Mrs. Cray had driven to the door and was asking for her. Sara tied her bonnet mechanically and went out. Mrs. Cray was seated in a fly. She would not alight then, she said: she had a great deal to do. Sara stepped in. Mrs. Cray was an imperious-looking woman, fair and pale, with a handsome face. Sara thought her over-dressed and very fidgety. They were not much acquainted when at Hallingham. "I have nothing to wear," she said to Sara. "I want a host of things. A bonnet first. Mrs. Mark Cray has given me the address of a superior dressmaker. She is a little selfish, is she not?"