The straightforward young man, without replying, simply held out to Lord Wentworth the letter that had been handed him. The Englishman cast his eye upon it, and became even paler than Gabriel; but he succeeded in maintaining his presence of mind, and while pretending to read it, was really making up his mind how to deal with the matter. "What an old fool she is!" said he, crumpling the letter in his hand and throwing it on the floor in well-feigned contempt. No words could have served to throw Gabriel off the scent more quickly or completely, for he was continually absorbed in his own thoughts, and had already begun to lose interest in the unknown. However, he did not abandon his suspicions at once, but responded rather evasively,-- "You don't tell me who this prisoner is whom you are detaining here against her will, my Lord?" "Against her will, indeed!" said Wentworth, in a perfectly unembarrassed tone. "It is a kinswoman of my wife,--a little crack-brained, if any one ever was,--whom her family wished to send away from England, and who has, much to my disgust, been put in my charge in this place, where it is easier to keep an eye on lunatics as well as on prisoners. However, since you have penetrated this family secret, my dear fellow, I think I might as well tell you the whole story on the spot. The particular mania of Lady Howe, who has read too many of the poems of chivalry, is to imagine, despite her fifty years and her gray hairs, that she is an oppressed and persecuted heroine; and she tries to interest in her behalf, by fables with more or less foundation in fact, every good-looking young cavalier who comes within her reach. Upon my soul, Gabriel, it seems to me as if my old aunt's romancing has enlisted your sympathy for her. Come! confess that her _billet-doux_ did cause you a little anxiety, my poor fellow?" "It's a strange story that you tell me, my Lord, you must agree," said Gabriel, coldly; "you have never spoken to me of your kinswoman that I remember." "No, to be sure I have not," rejoined Lord Wentworth; "for one does not ordinarily care to admit strangers into one's confidence as to private family matters." "But how does she come to say that she is French?" asked Gabriel. "Oh, to arouse your interest more successfully, in all probability," was Wentworth's reply, with a smile which began to be rather forced. "And this passion which she claims that you inflict upon her, my Lord?" "The delusion of an old woman who mistakes ancient memories for new hopes," rejoined Wentworth, who was beginning to grow restive. "Is it to avoid being laughed at, my Lord, that you keep her out of everybody's sight?"