"I looked in just now, and saw you all at it, dusting and brushing, and thought what an enviable young priest that Cattacomb must be. Now, my lad! don't ride over us if you can help it." The very same butcher-boy, in the same blue frock, had come galloping up to the Maze gate, rung the bell, and was now prancing backwards across the road on his horse, which was very restive. Something appeared to have startled the animal; and it was to the boy the last remark had been addressed. Miss Blake stepped inside the garden gate, held open for her--for the horse seemed to think the path his own ground as well as the highway. "He have been shoed this morning, and he's always in this dratted temper after it," spoke the boy gratuitously. The woman-servant came out with her dish, received some meat, and disappeared again, taking care to lock the gate after her. She had never left it unlocked since the unlucky day when Miss Blake got in. Glancing over the road, she saw the lady and the agent watching her, and no doubt recognized the former. "Looks like a faithful servant, that," remarked Mr. Smith. "Faithful," echoed Miss Blake--"well yes, she does. But to what a mistress! Fidelity to such a person does her no credit." Mr. Smith turned as grave as a judge. "Hush!" said he, impressively. "Unless one has sure and good ground to go upon, it is better not to assume evil." "No ground was ever surer than this." "My dear young lady, you may be utterly mistaken." She liked the style of address from him--my dear _young_ lady: it flattered her vanity. But she would not give way. "I have seen what I have seen, Mr. Smith. Sir Karl Andinnian would not be stealing in there at night, if it were proper for him to be going in the open day." "Never speak of it," cried Mr. Smith, his tone one of sharp, strong command. "What could you prove? I ask, Miss Blake, what you could prove--if put to it?" She did not answer. "Why, nothing, madam. Absolutely _nothing_. How could you?" Miss Blake considered. "I think there's a good deal of negative proof," she said, at length. "Moonshine," cried Mr. Smith. "Negative proof in a case of this kind always is moonshine. Listen, my dear Miss Blake, for I am advising you now as a good friend. Never breathe a word of this matter to living soul. You don't know what the consequences to yourself might be." "Consequences to myself!" "To yourself, of course: there's no one else in question--at least in my mind. You might be sued for libel, and get sentenced to pay heavy damages and to a term of imprisonment besides. For goodness sake, be cautious! Remember Jane Shore! She had to stand in the pillory in a white sheet in the face and eyes of a gaping multitude, a lighted taper in her hand." "Jane Shore!" cried Miss Blake, who at the above suggestion had begun to go as pale as she could well go. "Jane Shore! But that was not for libel. It was for--for--" Miss Blake broke down.