up through this Obed Chute, paying him, no doubt, a large sum for hush-money. "Thirdly, he deserted Lady Chetwynde when he was tired of her, and left her in the hands of Obed Chute. She was ill, and finally, on her recovery, joined the Sisters of Charity. "Fourthly, after eight years she ran away--perhaps to fall into evil courses and die in infamy. "And lastly, all this must be true, or else Obed Chute would not have been so close, and would not have fired up so at the very suggestion of an explanation. If it were not true, why should he not explain? But if it be true, then there is every reason why he should not explain." A long silence followed. Hilda was evidently deeply disappointed. From what Gualtier had said at the beginning of the interview, she had expected to hear something more definite. It seemed to her as though all his trouble had resulted in nothing. Still, she was not one to give way to disappointment, and she had too much good sense to show herself either ungrateful or ungracious. "Your conclusions are, no doubt, correct," said she at last, in a pleasanter tone than she had yet assumed; "but they are only inferences, and can not be made use of--in the practical way in which I hoped they would be. We are still in the attitude of inquirers, you see. The secret which we hold is of such a character that we have to keep it to ourselves until it be confirmed." Gualtier's face lighted up with pleasure as Hilda thus identified him with herself, and classed him with her as the sharer of the secret. "Any thing," said he, eagerly--"any thing that I can do, I will do. I hope you know that you have only to say the word--" Hilda waved her hand. "I trust you," said she. "The time will come when you will have something to do. But just now I must wait, and attend upon circumstances. There are many things in my mind which I will not tell you--that is to say, not yet. But when the time comes, I promise to tell you. You may be interested in my plans--or you may not. I will suppose that you are." "Can you doubt it, Miss Krieff?" "No, I do not doubt it, and I promise you my confidence when any thing further arises." "Can I be of no assistance now--in advising, or in counseling?" asked Gualtier, in a hesitating voice. "No--whatever half-formed plans I may have relate to people and to things which are altogether outside of your sphere, and so you could do nothing in the way of counseling or advising." "At least, tell me this much--must I look upon all my labor as wasted utterly? Will you at least accept it, even if it is useless, as an offering to you?" Gualtier's pale sallow face grew paler and more sallow as he asked this; his small gray eyes twinkled with a feverish light as he turned them anxiously upon Hilda. Hilda, for her part, regarded him with her usual calmness. "Accept it?" said she. "Certainly, right gladly and gratefully. My friend, if I was disappointed at the result, do not suppose that I fail to appreciate the labor. You have shown rare perseverance and great acuteness. The next time you will succeed." This approval of his labors, slight as it was, and spoken as it was, with the air of a queen, was eagerly and thankfully accepted by Gualtier. He hungered after her approval, and in his hunger he was delighted even with crumbs. CHAPTER XVII. A FRESH DISCOVERY. Some time passed away, and Hilda had no more interviews with Gualtier. The latter settled down into a patient, painstaking music-teacher once more, who seemed not to have an idea beyond his art. Hilda held herself aloof; and, even when she might have exchanged a few confidential words, she did not choose to do so. And Gualtier was content, and quiet, and patient. Nearly eighteen months had passed away since Zillah's visit to Pomeroy Court, and she began to be anxious to pay another visit. She had been agitating the subject for some time; but it had been postponed from time to time, for various reasons, the chief one being the ill health of the Earl. At length, however, his health improved somewhat, and Zillah determined to take advantage of this to go. This time, the sight of the Court did not produce so strong an effect as before. She did not feel like staying alone, but preferred having Hilda with her, and spoke freely about the past. They wandered about the rooms, looked over all the well-remembered places, rode or strolled through the grounds, and found, at every step, inside of the Court, and outside also, something which called up a whole world of associations. Wandering thus about the Court, from one room to another, it was natural that Zillah should go often to the library, where her father formerly passed the greater part of his time. Here they chiefly staid, and looked over the hooks and pictures. One day the conversation turned toward the desk, and Zillah casually remarked that her father used to keep this place so sacred from her intrusion that she had acquired a kind of awe of it, which she had not yet quite overcome. This led Hilda to propose, laughingly, that she should explore it now, on the spot; and, taking the keys, she opened it, and turned over some of the papers. At length she opened a drawer, and drew out a miniature. Zillah snatched it from her, and, looking at it for a few moments, burst into tears. "It's my mother," she cried, amidst her sobs; "my mother! Oh, my mother!" Hilda said nothing. "He showed it to me once, when I was a little child, and I often have wondered, in a vague way, what became of it. I never thought of looking here." "You may find other things here, also, if you look," said Hilda, gently. "No doubt your papa kept here all his most precious things." The idea excited Zillah. She covered the portrait with kisses, put it in her pocket, and then sat down to explore the desk. There were bundles of papers there, lying on the bottom of the desk, all neatly wrapped up and labeled in a most business-like manner. Outside there was a number of drawers, all of which were filled with papers. These were all wrapped in bundles, and were labeled, so as to show at the first glance that they referred to the business of the estate. Some were mortgages, others receipts, others letters, others returned checks and drafts. Nothing among these had any interest for Zillah. Inside the desk there were some drawers, which Zillah opened. Once on the search, she kept it up most vigorously. The discovery of her mother's miniature led her to suppose that something else of equal value might be found here somewhere. But, after a long search, nothing whatever was found. The search, however, only became the more exciting, and the more she was baffled the more eager did she become to follow it out to the end. While she was investigating in this way, Hilda stood by her, looking on with the air of a sympathizing friend and interested spectator. Sometimes she anticipated Zillah in opening drawers which lay before their eyes, and in seizing and examining the rolls of papers with which each drawer was filled. The search was conducted by both, in fact, but Zillah seemed to take the lead. "There's nothing more," said Hilda at last, as Zillah opened the last drawer, and found only some old business letters. "You have examined all, you have found nothing. At any rate, the search has given you the miniature; and, besides, it has dispelled that awe that you spoke of." "But, dear Hilda, there ought to be something," said Zillah. "I hoped for something more. I had an idea that I might find something--I don't know what--something which I could keep for the rest of my life." "Is not the miniature enough, dearest?" said Hilda, in affectionate tones. "What more could you wish for?" "I don't know. I prize it most highly; but, still, I feel disappointed." "There is no more chance," said Hilda. "No; I have examined every drawer." "You can not expect any thing more, so let us go away--unless," she added, "you expect to find some mysterious secret drawer somewhere, and I fancy there is hardly any room here for any thing of that kind." "A secret drawer!" repeated Zillah, with visible excitement. "What an idea! But could there be one? Is there any place for one? I don't see any place. There is the open place where the books are kept, and, on each side, a row of drawers. No; there are no secret drawers here. But see--what is this?" As Zillah said this she reached out her hand toward the lower part of the place where the books were kept. A narrow piece of wood projected there beyond the level face of the back of the desk. On this piece of wood there was a brass catch, which seemed intended to be fastened; but now, on account of the projection of the piece, it was not fastened. Zillah instantly pulled the wood, and it came out. It was a shallow drawer, not more than half an inch in depth, and the catch was the means by which it was closed. A bit of brass, that looked like an ornamental stud, was, in reality, a spring, by pressing which the drawer sprang open. But when Zillah looked there the drawer was already open, and, as she pulled it out, she saw it all. As she pulled it out her hand trembled, and her heart beat fast. A strange and inexplicable feeling filled her mind--a kind of anticipation of calamity--a mysterious foreboding of evil--which spread a strange terror through her. But her excitement was strong, and was not now to be quelled; and it would have needed something far more powerful than this vague fear to stop her in the search into the mystery of the desk. When men do any thing that is destined to affect them seriously, for good or evil, it often happens that at the time of the action a certain unaccountable premonition arises in the mind. This is chiefly the case when the act is to be the cause of sorrow. Like the wizard with Lochiel, some dark phantom arises before the mind, and warns of the evil to come. So it was
