He was, by nature and habit, a slow thinker, and Hilda was running away from him a little; but he was, perhaps, surer than she. “I am convinced, Sidney,” she continued, “that Christian connects Signor Bruno in some manner with the disturbances in France. It seems very strange that an old man buried alive in a small village should have it in his power to do so much harm.” “A man's power of doing harm is practically unlimited,” he said slowly, still wishing to gain time. “Yes, but he has always appeared so childlike and innocent.” “That is exactly what I disliked about him,” said Sidney. “Then do you think he has been deliberately deceiving us all along?” she asked. “Not necessarily,” was the tolerant reply. “You must remember that Christian is essentially a politician. He does not suspect Bruno of anything criminal; his suspicions are merely political; and it may be that Bruno's doings, whatever they appear to be now, may in the future be looked upon as the actions of a hero. Politics are impersonal, and Signor Bruno is only known to us socially.” Hilda could not see the matter in this light. No woman could have been expected to do so. “I suppose,” she said presently, “that Signor Bruno is a political intriguer.” “I expect so,” replied her brother. They were walking slowly up the broad path towards the house, having given up the idea of searching for Christian or calling him. “Then,” continued Sidney, “you think it is likely that he has gone off to see Bruno, or to watch him?” “I think so.” “That is the only reasonable explanation I can think of,” he said gravely and doubtfully, for he was still thinking of the moat. They entered the house, and to Mrs. Carew and Molly their explanation was imparted. It was received somewhat doubtfully, especially by Molly. However, the farce had to be kept up--and do we not act in similar comedies every day? CHAPTER XIII A NIGHT WATCH Cheerfulness is, thank goodness, infectious. The watchers at the Hall that night made a great show of light-heartedness. Sidney had risen to the occasion. He laughed at the idea of anything serious having happened to Christian, and his confidence gradually spread and gained new strength. Molly, however, was apparently beyond its influence. With her perpetual needle-work in her hands she sat beneath the lamp and worked rapidly. Occasionally she glanced towards Hilda, but contributed nothing to the explanations forthcoming from all quarters. Hilda was also working; slowly, however, and with marvellous care. She was engaged upon a more artistic production than ever came from Molly's work-basket. Once she consulted Mrs. Carew about the colour of a skein of wool, but otherwise showed no inclination to avoid topics in any manner connected with Christian, despite the fact that these were obviously distasteful to her family. In all that she said, indifference was blended in a singular way with imperturbable cheerfulness.