The thought of that letter I had read and destroyed again recurred to me. Yes, she had concealed her secret--the secret of her attempt to marry Courtenay for his money. And yet if, as seemed so apparent, she had nursed her hatred, was it not but natural that she should assume a hostile attitude towards her sister--the woman who had eclipsed her in the old man's affections? Nevertheless, on the contrary, she was always apologetic where Mary was concerned, and had always sought to conceal her shortcomings and domestic infelicity. It was that point which so sorely puzzled me. "Why should my love for you become suddenly extinguished?" I asked, for want of something other to say. "I don't know," she faltered. "I cannot tell why, but I have a distinct distrust of the future, a feeling that we are drifting apart." She spoke the truth. A woman in love is quick of perception, and no feigned affection on the man's part can ever blind her. I saw that she read my heart like an open book, and at once strove to reassure her, trying to bring myself to believe that I had misjudged her. "No, no, dearest," I said, rising with a hollow pretence of caressing her tears away. "You are nervous, and upset by the tragedy. Try to forget it all." "Forget!" she echoed in a hard voice, her eyes cast down despondently. "Forget that night! Ah, no, I can never forget it--never!" CHAPTER XIV. IS DISTINCTLY CURIOUS. The dark days of the London winter brightened into spring, but the mystery of old Mr. Courtenay's death remained an enigma inexplicable to police and public. Ambler Jevons had prosecuted independent inquiries assiduously in various quarters, detectives had watched the subsequent movements of Short and the other servants, but all to no purpose. The sudden disappearance of Short was discovered to be due to the illness of his brother. The identity of the assassin, as well as the mode in which the extraordinary wound had been inflicted, both remained mysteries impenetrable. At Guy's we were a trifle under-staffed, and my work was consequently heavy; while, added to that, Sir Bernard was suffering from the effects of a severe chill, and had not been able to come to town for nearly a month. Therefore, I had been kept at it practically night and day, dividing my time between the hospital, Harley Street, and my own rooms. I saw little of my friend Jevons, for his partner had been ordered to Bournemouth for his health, and therefore his constant attendance at his office in Mark Lane was imperative. Ambler had now but little leisure save on Sundays, when we would usually dine together at the Cavour, the Globe, the Florence, or some other foreign restaurant.