Her thoughts did not dwell much upon her husband; she had never greatly cared for him, and she experienced no particular wish, even had such a thing been possible, to be reconciled to him now. It was on the image of her unknown daughter—of her little brown-eyed Netta, stolen from her so long ago and now grown to woman’s estate, that her mind perpetually dwelt. Her husband had not deigned to tell her what strange chance had brought him and their daughter together again, no more than he had condescended to enlighten her about the facts of his own history from the time of her desertion of him; but all that mattered nothing. The one fact that her daughter was alive, and, so to speak, within reach of her hand, was all that concerned her. And yet in this world they must never meet! Yes, an hour’s railway journey would have brought them together, and yet were they as widely severed as if a thousand leagues of ocean rolled between them. There was madness in the thought. Day and night it wrought in her brain. She could neither eat nor sleep except by fits and starts at wide-apart intervals. In a week’s time she seemed to have aged half-a-dozen years. Her only visitor was Luigi Rispani. Sometimes she welcomed his coming and was grateful for his company; at others she wished him away that she might have more leisure to indulge in the long fits of silent brooding to which she was yielding up herself more day by day. “Luigi _mio_,” she said to him one day, “I want you to go down to Mapleford and make certain inquiries for me.” “Yes, aunt, with pleasure. What is it you wish me to ascertain?” “I want you to pick up all the information you can about my daughter—where and how my husband found her, with whom she has been living all these years, and the name she has been passing under, together with any other particulars it may be possible to ascertain. If you can, I should like you to see her, so that you may be able to describe her to me. I would give fifty sovereigns this moment for a photograph of her. You have a number of acquaintances in Mapleford, and you ought to be able to bring quite a heap of information back with you. Here are a couple of pounds for your expenses.” Luigi pocketed the money with alacrity and departed. He turned over several plans in his mind for obtaining the information wanted by his aunt, and at length he decided that he would go down by an evening train on the morrow, alight at Westwood, the station this side of Mapleford, where there would be little risk of his being recognised, walk from there to Elm Lodge and seek an interview with Everard Lisle. The latter had already proved, in a way not one man out of a thousand would have done, how well disposed he was towards him, and surely he would scarcely refuse to furnish him with the required information. In any case, although the task was one he by no means relished, he would go to Lisle first of all, and get from him all that he was disposed to give.