"Perhaps not,"--steadily,--"but in deed. I spoke in anger. Your uncle had insulted me grossly when I met him just before going to Mrs. Owen's dance, and in my indignation I uttered a wish which would have been better left unsaid. But listen to reason, dear; to think evil is not a crime." Cynthia threw back her head and gazed at him wildly. "Oh, I would so gladly, gladly believe you innocent!" She placed her small, trembling hands on his breast. "It hurts horribly--because I love you so." Lane caught her in a close embrace. "My darling--my dear, dear one----" His voice choked. Cynthia lay passive in his arms. Suddenly she raised her white face and kissed him passionately, then thrust him from her. "Oh, God! why did you take that sharp letter file with you?" "I didn't!" The words were positive, but his looks belied them. "She says you did--she declares that when she met you looking for the carriage you held it in your hand----" The words seemed forced from Cynthia. She placed a hand on the chair nearest her as she swayed slightly. "She! Who?" The question was almost a roar. "Annette." CHAPTER XVI A CRY IN THE NIGHT Eleanor tiptoed over to the bed. At last Cynthia had dropped asleep. It seemed hours since Lane's call for help had taken her into the drawing-room, where she found Cynthia stretched upon the floor and the young officer bending frantically over her. Dr. Marsh, who fortunately resided next door but one, had been sent for, and, on his arrival in hot haste, Cynthia had been revived and carried to her room. Cynthia had shown a sudden aversion to having Annette about, so Eleanor had sent the maid to bed, and since ten o'clock had been sitting with Cynthia, trying to quiet her. Eleanor glanced about the room. There was nothing more she could do, and, stretching herself wearily, she arranged the night light so that it would not shine in Cynthia's eyes, and placed an old-fashioned brass bell on the small table by the bed, so that if Cynthia needed assistance she could ring for aid. Then, moving softly for fear of waking the sleeper, she stole across the room, turned out the gas, and, stepping into the hall, closed the door gently after her. Some time later she was busy undressing in her own room when a faint knock disturbed her. On opening the door she found Mrs. Truxton standing in the hall with a quilted wrapper drawn tight around her portly figure. "I thought you hadn't gone to bed," she remarked in a sibilant whisper which was more penetrating than an ordinary low-pitched voice. "I just could not go to bed"--selecting a large oak rocker--"until I had some explanation of this extraordinary affair. Will you please inform me what made that poor girl faint in the drawing-room?"