"But if she could prove that he _did_ deliver them, he might be charged with complicity?" "Exactly." "Can I not warn him?" "No, Lady Isabelle, you owe it to me to keep silence, at least for the next few days. In telling you this, to relieve your anxiety, I have exceeded my instructions, and placed my honour in your hands." "It shall be held sacred; but who is to warn my husband?" "I'll do so, if you wish." "I can never be sufficiently grateful, if you will." "Then we'll consider that settled," he said. "You've been a true friend to me," she replied, taking his hand, "and I've ill repaid you for your kindness." "Don't think of that," he said, and turned away, heavy-hearted; for now he fancied he knew the worst. CHAPTER XXXI MISS FITZGERALD BURNS HER BOATS "My dear," said the Secretary, as he shook hands with Madame Darcy over the little wicket gate entwined with roses, which gave admittance to her rustic abode, "I want to thank you for those letters." "To thank me?" "Yes. Why not?" "Why not? Why, I was almost ashamed to meet you face to face." "But why should you be?" "That I should have spoken of them at all, and to you." "But surely you cannot blame yourself for that. You thought they related to quite a different person." "Now who would have supposed a man would have given me credit. But why do I stand talking at the gate--come in, you've not perhaps had your breakfast yet this morning?" "Yes, thanks, and a hearty one. Do you think I come to eat you out of house and home?" "I think you come only to the gate." "Unfortunately, beggars must not be choosers--and I've just time for a word. It's my busy day, as they say in the city." She was piqued, and showed it. "Do you not think I would willingly spend all day with you, if----" "I think," she replied, "that you're engaged to a certain young lady--and you've told me that you're busy." "It's about her I wished to speak," he said, abruptly changing the subject. "These letters have misled you." "You mean----" "I mean that they refer to the plot in which your husband and this young lady are engaged." She looked at him searchingly. "You are speaking the truth to me. You know this to be so?" "On my honour. I am not trying to deceive you. I only ask you to believe that your original suspicions were incorrect." "But you substitute something quite as bad." "Well, no--hardly that. In fact it may benefit you greatly." "How so?" "That I'm not at liberty to tell you just now; I hope I can in a day or two. Meantime, may I ask you to keep silence about what I've said, and trust your affairs to me--they shall not suffer in my hands." "Have I not trusted you, my friend?" "You have indeed, and I've appreciated it; but that you'll understand better a little later--when I've been able to help you more." "You have done all for me; you have saved me, and I can never forget it." "Nonsense, I've done nothing as yet."