CHAPTER XXXIII. A GLEAM OF LIGHT.

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After leaving the photographer’s shop, I walked slowly across the little market-place and down the narrow street towards the “Rose and Crown.” My recent discovery had given me a good deal to think about, or rather, had afforded me matter for a variety of wild conjectures, but I could follow none of them to a very satisfactory conclusion. I was like a man groping in the dark. I had stumbled upon several very extraordinary and inexplicable facts; but what connection, if any, they had with one another, or how to link them together, I could not tell.

I have always been somewhat absent-minded and, with my brain in such a whirl, it was not a very remarkable thing that I took a wrong turning. The moment I had discovered it I stopped short and looked round. I was in a little street that led past the back entrance of the “Rose and Crown.” It was scarcely a public thoroughfare.

I had already turned on my heel to retrace my steps, when I saw two figures standing talking at the back door of the inn. One I knew at a glance to be Milly Hart. Her companion was standing with his back to me, a muffler round his neck and his cap slouched over his eyes. In the gloom of the fast-falling twilight I did not at first recognise him; but when he turned round with a start at the sound of my approaching footsteps and withdrew his arm with a sudden movement from around his companion’s waist, something in the motion and figure seemed familiar to me.

My approach seemed to discompose them not a little. Milly stepped back at once into the doorway and disappeared; her companion, without waiting to make any adieu, turned round and walked swiftly away. As he crossed the street to make use of the only exit from it—a narrow passage leading through a court—I had a better view of him. He kept his back to me as much as possible and seemed to be using every endeavour to escape recognition. But although I could not be quite certain, I was pretty sure that it was Leonard de Cartienne—de Cartienne, who never missed an opportunity of sneering at Milly’s innocent blue eyes and baby face.

I turned back, and hurried round to the front entrance of the “Rose and Crown.” In the parlour I found Cecil and Milly sitting very close together upon a sofa.

“Hallo, old chap, you haven’t been long!” remarked Cecil, rising reluctantly.

“I should have been here before,” I answered, looking steadily at Milly, “but I took a wrong turning and got round the back of this place somehow. Saw you, didn’t I, Miss Milly?” I remarked.

She raised her eyebrows and looked at me wonderingly out of her placid blue eyes.

“Me? Oh, no! I have only just come downstairs, have I not, Cecil? It must have been one of the maids.”

Milly and I exchanged a steady gaze, her eyes meeting mine without drooping and her manner betraying only a mild surprise. It was a revelation to me, a lesson which I did not easily forget.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m sure,” I said, turning away. “It was rather dark and no doubt I was mistaken. Strange, too; I thought it was de Cartienne with whom you were talking.”

Cecil laughed carelessly.

“My dear fellow, you must have been dreaming,” he said; “de Cartienne has not been here at all.”

“Ready, Cecil?” I asked, abandoning the subject. “I think we’ve kept Bess waiting about long enough.”

“I’ll come,” he replied, drawing on his gloves. “I’ve scarcely had a moment with you, Milly, though, have I? No news?”

She shook her head sadly and the big tears stood in her eyes. There was no mistaking her earnestness now.

“None about my father. My uncle and aunt are coming to stay here. I expect them tonight.”

“Horrid nuisance that is!” remarked Cecil, sotto voce. “Never mind, you won’t be so lonely, little woman, will you? And you won’t have so much to look after. I must take you for a drive as soon as we get a fine, clear day; that’ll bring some colour into your cheeks. Good-bye!”

She came to the door and watched us drive off. Cecil took the reins and I climbed to his side, and, folding my arms, sat for a while in gloomy silence. Then suddenly a gleam of light, or what I hoped might prove so, broke in upon me and I laid my hand upon Cecil’s arm.

“Pull up, old chap—quick!” I exclaimed.

He did so, and looked at me wonderingly.

“Turn round and drive back again as fast as you can,” I said, my voice trembling a little with excitement; “I want to ask Milly Hart a question.”

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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