“You entirely misunderstand what you saw when you opened that door,” Julian answered, quietly. “Perhaps I misunderstand the confession which you made to me not an hour ago?” retorted Lady Janet. Julian cast a look of alarm at Mercy. “Don’t speak of it!” he said, in a whisper. “She might hear you.” “Do you mean to say she doesn’t know you are in love with her?” “Thank God, she has not the faintest suspicion of it!” There was no mistaking the earnestness with which he made that reply. It proved his innocence as nothing else could have proved it. Lady Janet drew back a step--utterly bewildered; completely at a loss what to say or what to do next. The silence that followed was broken by a knock at the library door. The man-servant--with news, and bad news, legibly written in his disturbed face and manner--entered the room. In the nervous irritability of the moment, Lady Janet resented the servant’s appearance as a positive offense on the part of the harmless man. “Who sent for you?” she asked, sharply. “What do you mean by interrupting us?” The servant made his excuses in an oddly bewildered manner. “I beg your ladyship’s pardon. I wished to take the liberty--I wanted to speak to Mr. Julian Gray.” “What is it?” asked Julian. The man looked uneasily at Lady Janet, hesitated, and glanced at the door, as if he wished himself well out of the room again. “I hardly know if I can tell you, sir, before her ladyship,” he answered. Lady Janet instantly penetrated the secret of her servant’s hesitation. “I know what has happened,” she said; “that abominable woman has found her way here again. Am I right?” The man’s eyes helplessly consulted Julian. “Yes, or no?” cried Lady Janet, imperatively. “Yes, my lady.” Julian at once assumed the duty of asking the necessary questions. “Where is she?” he began. “Somewhere in the grounds, as we suppose, sir.” “Did _you_ see her?” “No, sir.” “Who saw her?” “The lodge-keeper’s wife.” This looked serious. The lodge-keeper’s wife had been present while Julian had given his instructions to her husband. She was not likely to have mistaken the identity of the person whom she had discovered. “How long since?” Julian asked next. “Not very long, sir.” “Be more particular. _How_ long?” “I didn’t hear, sir.” “Did the lodge-keeper’s wife speak to the person when she saw her?” “No, sir: she didn’t get the chance, as I understand it. She is a stout woman, if you remember. The other was too quick for her--discovered her, sir, and (as the saying is) gave her the slip.” “In what part of the grounds did this happen?” The servant pointed in the direction of the side hall. “In that part, sir. Either in the Dutch garden or the shrubbery. I am not sure which.” It was plain, by this time, that the man’s information was too imperfect to be practically of any use. Julian asked if the lodge-keeper’s wife was in the house.