It was the only cloud on Ethel’s happiness. If her mother were dead, why had she not been frankly told that such was the case? If she were still alive, could it be that all mention of her name had been purposely omitted because she had been guilty of something which must keep her and her daughter for ever apart? But when Ethel asked herself this question, which she did more than once, her thoughts at once reverted to that unknown Mrs. Clare about whom she had heard so much, while staying at the Shrublands, who was said to be the daughter-in-law of Sir Gilbert Clare, and to be an Italian by birth, who had lived for a short time at Maylings, but who seemed to have suddenly left the neighbourhood, for what reason Ethel had never been told, only a few days prior to the arrival of Lady Pell and herself at Withington Chase. Then came another inevitable question. “Was Mrs. Clare of Maylings my mother?” She had gathered from various remarks which Lady Pell had let drop from time to time, that Sir Gilbert had had four sons in all, but that only the eldest had lived to arrive at man’s estate. If such were the case, and if the late tenant of Maylings were really Sir Gilbert’s daughter-in-law, then it seemed to follow as a certainty that she could be the wife of none other than John Alexander Clare—of the man whom she, Ethel, now knew to be her father! It was a startling conclusion to come to, but, under the circumstances, none other seemed possible. In accordance with the promise he had made Giovanna, and after consultation with his father, John Clare wrote to a London solicitor empowering him to wait upon Mrs. Clare and propose certain pecuniary arrangements for her acceptance. Return of post brought a reply to the effect that on inquiry at Mrs. Clare’s lodgings it had been found that she was temporarily out of town and that the date of her return was uncertain. Evidently till she should have returned nothing further could be done in the matter. But at this time John Clare’s wife was much nearer him that he was aware of. The sudden appearance before her of the husband whom she had long believed to be dead, and the astounding news of which he was the bearer, had combined to produce in Giovanna’s mind a feeling of bitter remorse, as regarded certain episodes of the past, to which she had heretofore been a stranger. To know that, as a consequence of her misdeeds, she had forfeited all a mother’s rights and privileges, that her daughter would be taught to think of her either as of one dead, or, if as still living, as of one the mere mention of whose name was enough to bring the blush of shame to her cheek, was to drink deeply of the waters of Marah.