"I never saw a dead person in my life," she rejoined; "not even my husband; and I shall not easily recover from the shock. I would give anything rather than have been exposed to it." "And so would I, and I shall always regret it," was my warm apology. "Then why do you introduce the subject?" "I did not intend to allude to that; but to your having sat in the front room I must allude; and I know you will excuse my asking you the question I am about to put to you. Did you happen to see a parchment lying in that front room: on the table, or the side-tables, or--anywhere, in short? We have missed one: and if you chanced to have noticed it, it would be a great assistance to us, as a proof that we need not carry our researches further back than that day." "I don't remember that I saw any parchment," she carelessly rejoined. "I saw some papers, tied round with pink tape, on the table; I did not notice them particularly. I pray you not to make me think about that afternoon, or you will have me in hysterics again." "It is not possible--your ladyship will pardon me--that it can have caught your dress in any way, and so have been carried downstairs and out of the house, and--perhaps--lost in the street?" I persisted slowly, looking at her. Looking at her: but I could detect no emotion on her face; no drooping of the eye; no rise or fall of colour, such as one guilty would have been likely to display. She appeared to take my question literally, and to see nothing beyond it. "I cannot tell anything about it, Mr. Strange. Had my dress been covered with parchments, I was in too much terror to notice them. Your clerks would be more able to answer you than I, for they had to assist me down to my carriage. But how should a parchment become attached to a lady's dress?" she added, shaking out the folds of her ample skirts. "The crape is quite soft, you perceive. Touch it." "Quite so," I assented, advancing for a half-moment the extreme tip of my forefinger. "You will take a glass of wine? Now don't say no. Why can't you be sociable?" "Not any wine, thank you," I answered with a laugh. "We lawyers have to keep our heads clear, Lady Clavering: we should not do that if we took wine in the daytime." "Sit still, pray. You have scarcely been here five minutes. I want to speak to you, too, upon a matter of business." So I resumed my seat, and waited. She was looking at me very earnestly. "It is about those missing letters of mine. Have you searched for them, Mr. Strange?" "Partially. I do not think we hold any. There are none amongst the Clavering papers." "Why do you say 'partially'?" she questioned. "I have not had time to search amongst the packets of letters in Mr. Brightman's cupboards and places. But I think if there were any of your letters in our possession they would have been with the Clavering papers." Her gaze again sought mine for a moment, and then faded to vacancy. "I wonder if he burnt them," she dreamily uttered. "Who? Mr. Brightman?"