"Quite alone, sir. My poor husband and my only child have been dead these ten years--I am quite alone in the world," answered Mrs. Mason with a sigh. "Good day, Mrs. Mason, and many thanks for your kindness to a wayfaring man," said the detective as he went down the path, leaped into the saddle and rode away. Mrs. Mason's revelation had thrown his mind into a chaos of doubt, perplexity and suspicion. New light began to break in on him, startling him with a wondrous possibility he had not suspected. CHAPTER XXIII. Mrs. Vance had done herself more harm than good by the bold avowal of her love for Lancelot Darling. The innate delicacy and almost womanly refinement of his character revolted at the idea of her imprudent and ill-considered step. He could not understand why she should have lowered herself by declaring her love after all he had said regarding the constancy of his affection for his loved and lost Lily. He pitied, and yet the feeling of pity was more closely allied than he knew to a feeling that bordered on contempt. The fair widow herself was not by any means cast down by Lancelot's firm and resolute repulse. She thought, from her knowledge of masculine character in general, that Lancelot's vanity would soon overcome his first shocked repugnance to her unfeminine avowal, and cause him to exult in the knowledge that he was so madly beloved by so beautiful and accomplished a woman. From that there would be but a slight step to giving his love in return. She had not driven him away from her, for he had not said he would not come again. She would see him often, and work on his feelings by every art of which she was mistress. Surely she could not fail to win him. He was young, impressible, and youth is not prone to constancy to the dead. True he had an idle, romantic fancy that "love is love forevermore," but time and her artifice would cure him of that. "I will be very shy and humble when he first comes back again," she thought. "No young maiden in her teens shall outdo me in coyness and reserve. I will make him think that my wild outburst that day was entirely unpremeditated and that I am thoroughly ashamed and repentant. He will begin to excuse me to himself, then he will pity my hopeless love, and then--ah, then, 'pity is akin to love!'" She was sitting in the drawing-room, rocking leisurely back and forth while she trifled over a delicate bit of fancy-work. A fire burned cheerily on the marble hearth, for the late October days were growing chilly, and diffused an air of warmth and comfort in the large, luxuriously appointed apartment. Mrs. Vance herself was quite in keeping with the elegance of the room. Her house dress of delicate pink cashmere, with trimmings of cream-white lace, made a beautiful spot of color in the darker, more subdued coloring of the furnishings around her.