After that momentous interview I presented myself to my astonished relatives. These were two lovable old maids, sisters of my mother, who had passed the best part of their existence in the Cathedral Square of Marshminster. They knew everybody and all about everybody, and pottered through life with the assistance of a comfortable income which they shared in common, a trifle of gossip, and a series of afternoon teas. At the daily services of the cathedral they were always to be seen, and were intimately acquainted with the dean and chapter. Even the bishop condescended to take tea with them on occasions, and they held their heads high in consequence. Moreover, they loved me greatly, though I was but a graceless nephew to the good souls. When I made my appearance, the Misses Durrant received me with open arms. They had not expected me till much later in the month, but had already prepared for my reception. My portmanteau, which I had ordered to be sent down from London, had arrived, the bedding of my room was thoroughly well aired, and Rachel, their handmaiden, spread for me a sumptuous meal. When I washed and clothed myself anew, I made an excellent meal, for the long tramp from the Fen Inn made me hungry, I then sat down for a chat and a smoke. "I think he may, Jane," hinted Sophia gently. "If he sits near the open window, Sophia," was the firm reply, whereupon, this little comedy having been gone through as usual, I produced my pipe and took my appointed station. Thus settled I made inquiries about Bellin Hall and its inmates. "I see you have the London beauty down here, aunt." "Olivia Bellin," said they both in a breath, and then sighed. "Is there anything to mourn about, Aunt Jane?" I asked, pricking-up my ears for useful information which I knew these gossips could supply. "Ah," sighed Aunt Jane, folding her withered hands, "who knows the wickedness of the heart?" "Olivia's heart?" "Dear me, no, Lionel," said Aunt Sophia, scandalized; "she is a good girl,--as good as she is lovely,--and not so silly as her mother," concluded the old lady, with feminine spite. "Then to whose heart do you allude?" This question started a duet between the two old ladies. "Francis Briarfield! You remember, Jane." "Yes, Sophia! That hussy with the feather boa----" "Was seen speaking to him in the cathedral by Bishop Jevon's tomb." "And he seemed very intimate with her." "Still, Jane, he was glad when she left Marshminster." "Rather relieved, I think, Sophia." "And poor Olivia Bellin knew nothing about his wickedness," they concluded together. My heart beat rapidly. In this idle talk I saw a link which would bind Felix Briarfield to the girl at the Fen Inn. "Was she a pretty girl?" I asked with well-simulated carelessness. "Handsome is that handsome does," snorted Aunt Jane, who was remarkably plain herself.