She made the best excuse she could. Had wandered inside the gate, attracted by the mass of beautiful trees, and lost herself amidst them. After a pause of wondering consideration, the servant understood how it must have been--that she had got in during her temporary absence from the gate when she went to fetch the butcher's book; and she knew what a long while she must have been there. "I'll let you out," she said. "It's a pity you came in." Very rapidly the woman walked on through the maze, Miss Blake following her. There were turnings and twistings, amid which the latter strove to catch some clue to the route. In vain. One turning, one path seemed just like another. "Does your mistress live quite alone here?" she asked of the servant. "Yes, ma'am," was the reply, more civilly spoken--for, that the servant had been at first much put out by the occurrence, her manner testified. "She's all alone, except for me and my old man." "Your old man?" exclaimed Miss Blake questioningly. "My husband," explained the woman, perceiving she was not understood. "He's the gardener." "Oh, I saw him," said Miss Blake. "But he looks quite too old and infirm to do much." "He's not as old as he looks--and he has a good deal of work in him still. Of course when a man gets rheumatics, he can't be as active as before." "How very dull your mistress must be!" "Not at all, ma'am. She has her birds, and flowers, and music, and work. And the garden she's very fond of: she'll spend hours in the greenhouse over the plants." "Mrs. Grey, I think I have heard her called." "Yes, Mrs. Grey." "Well now--where's her husband?" "She's not got a hus-- At least,--her husband's not here." The first part of the answer was begun in a fierce, resentful tone: but at the break the woman seemed to recollect herself, and calmed down. Miss Blake was silently observant, pondering all in her inquisitive mind. "Mr. Grey is travelling abroad just now," continued the woman. "Here we are." Yes, there they were escaped from the maze, the iron gate before them. The woman took a key from her pocket and unlocked it--just as Sir Karl had taken a key from his pocket the previous night. Miss Blake saw now what a small key it was, to undo so large a gate. "Good morning," she said. "Thank you very much. It was exceedingly thoughtless of me to stroll in." "Good day to you, ma'am." Very busy was Miss Blake's brain as she went home. The Maze puzzled her. That this young and pretty woman should be living alone in that perfect seclusion with only two servants to take care of her, one of them at least old and decrepid, was the very oddest thing she had ever met with. Miss Blake knew the world tolerably well; and, so far as her experience went, a man whose wife was so young and so lovely as this wife, would wish to take her travelling with him. Altogether, it seemed very singular: and more singular still seemed the stealthy and familiar entrance, that she had witnessed, of Sir Karl Andinnian.