"It's Fenella," said the Governor, looking out of the window. "I'll ask you to say nothing to her about the subject of our conversation. And listen" (he was re-lighting his pipe and puffing at it with lips that smacked angrily; Stowell's hand was on the door), "don't let my girl make a damned fool of you." II "Victor, I have something to tell you," said Fenella. "Yes?" They were in the library. She was looking feverish; he was feeling ashamed, embarrassed and afraid. "I have found out who was the friend of that poor girl." He gazed at her without speaking. "It will be a great shock to you--it was Alick Gell." "No, no!" "I'm sorry, dear. I knew you would be unable to believe it. But it's true--terribly true." Mrs. Quayle, the evening before, had said very little. Nobody had called to see the girl while she stayed at her house, and nobody had come to take her away. She, herself, had seen her off by the train, and all the girl had told her was that she was going to a school at Derby-Haven. "But that was enough for me," said Fenella. "This morning I went down to Derby-Haven and found there was only one school there. It is kept by two maiden ladies named Brown. Simple old things, very timid and old-fashioned. They were thrown into terrible commotion by my call, and having read the reports in the newspapers they were at first afraid to say anything. But after I had promised that they should not be mixed up in the matter in any way, I got them to speak. Mr. Alick Gell had brought the girl to their house. He had paid for her, and they had always looked upon him as her intended husband. So it's a certainty, you see--a shocking certainty." Stowell was breathless. "But my dear Fenella," he said, "this is a mistake. You are drawing a false inference...." But Fenella only shook her head. "Yes. I knew your loyalty to your friend would compel you to say so. But what do you think? I have since found that the fact is common knowledge." Returning in the train she had occupied a compartment with two men--the strangest looking creatures she had ever seen in a first-class carriage. One of them turned out to be the girl's stepfather and the other a member of the House of Keys. "Cæsar Qualtrough?" "Cæsar? Yes, that was the name. They talked about the forthcoming trial and didn't seem to mind my hearing them--perhaps wished me to. The step-father (he spoke as if the whole case had been got up to disgrace him) was complaining that he had not been called by either side. But no matter, he would force himself upon the Court and expose the real criminal--the Speaker's son. It was all a trick. But it should not succeed. He would put the saddle on the right horse, he would. And then they talked about you." "What .... what about me?"