"As I have already told thee," began Lord Monteagle, "I suspected that it was she who had ensnared thee. I set inquiries afoot, and in justice to the girl, with a twofold object--first, to establish her innocence, if she were true; secondly, to save thy name and happiness, if she proved guilty. But," he went on, advancing toward his son and laying a hand upon his shoulder, "the second object of my quest was the one fulfilled. The proof came by the hand of God. Yesternight, leaving the house of Lord Brighton, where I had dined, and wishing to return with all speed, I requested the bearers of my chair to take the shortest way home. Gazing out of the window, I noted that we were in the locality of the house wherein she (who had for the past few days most unhappily filled my mind) was reported to reside, and desiring to look upon the spot, commanded my men to rest there. Suddenly I descried a man muffled in a cloak, proceeding up the street, who, as he approached, proved to my astonishment to be none other than Sir Thomas Winter. Quickly he ascended the steps and knocked at the house opposite the place where I chanced to be. After a moment the door opened and the figure of a girl stood on the threshold. Beholding her, Winter exclaimed: 'A good evening to thee, Mistress Fawkes,' the rest of the greeting being lost to me as the door closed. I was astonished at having so quickly set before me the two whose names had been in my mind. After a few moments the door again opened suddenly, this time I think by accident, revealing the figure of him who had just entered, still clad in his cloak, clasping in his arms and kissing the woman who admitted him. I could not hear what passed, for at the time the wind blew high, drowning their voices. But I had seen enough, and cried to the bearers to take up the chair and proceed. That, my son, is what I have seen, not learned by mere hearsay. Would that I could have spared thee the telling, but 'tis for thy welfare I have narrated it."