She accepted the explanation in silence. He was, to all appearance, not quite satisfied with it himself. For a moment or two he looked about him uneasily. Then the old fascination fastened its hold on him again. Once more he looked at the graceful turn of her head, at the rich masses of her hair. The courage to put the critical question to him, now that she had lured him into remaining in the room, was still a courage that failed her. She remained as busy as ever with her work--too busy to look at him; too busy to speak to him. The silence became unendurable. He broke it by making a commonplace inquiry after her health. “I am well enough to be ashamed of the anxiety I have caused and the trouble I have given,” she answered. “To-day I have got downstairs for the first time. I am trying to do a little work.” She looked into the basket. The various specimens of wool in it were partly in balls and partly in loose skeins. The skeins were mixed and tangled. “Here is sad confusion!” she exclaimed, timidly, with a faint smile. “How am I to set it right again?” “Let me help you,” said Julian. “You!” “Why not?” he asked, with a momentary return of the quaint humor which she remembered so well. “You forget that I am a curate. Curates are privileged to make themselves useful to young ladies. Let me try.” He took a stool at her feet, and set himself to unravel one of the tangled skeins. In a minute the wool was stretched on his hands, and the loose end was ready for Mercy to wind. There was something in the trivial action, and in the homely attention that it implied, which in some degree quieted her fear of him. She began to roll the wool off his hands into a ball. Thus occupied, she said the daring words which were to lead him little by little into betraying his suspicions, if he did indeed suspect the truth. CHAPTER XVII. THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. “You were here when I fainted, were you not?” Mercy began. “You must think me a sad coward, even for a woman.” He shook his head. “I am far from thinking that,” he replied. “No courage could have sustained the shock which fell on you. I don’t wonder that you fainted. I don’t wonder that you have been ill.” She paused in rolling up the ball of wool. What did those words of unexpected sympathy mean? Was he laying a trap for her? Urged by that serious doubt, she questioned him more boldly. “Horace tells me you have been abroad,” she said. “Did you enjoy your holiday?” “It was no holiday. I went abroad because I thought it right to make certain inquiries--” He stopped there, unwilling to return to a subject that was painful to her. Her voice sank, her fingers trembled round the ball of wool; but she managed to go on. “Did you arrive at any results?” she asked. “At no results worth mentioning.” The caution of that reply renewed her worst suspicions of him. In sheer despair, she spoke out plainly. “I want to know your opinion--” she began. “Gently!” said Julian. “You are entangling the wool again.”