"My dear," began Mrs. Brookes—and now
held the slender fingers tightly in her
withered palm—"I fear there is something
very wrong with George."

"Is he—is he dead?" asked the mother, in a
faint voice.

"No, no; he is well and safe; and far away
from this, I hope and trust."

Mrs. Carruthers made no answer, but she
gazed at her old friend with irresistible, pitiful
entreaty. Mrs. Brookes answered the dumb
appeal.

"Yes, my dear, I'll tell you all. I must, for
his sake. Do you know what was the business
that brought that strange gentleman here, he
that went out with master, and dined here last
night? No, you don't. I thought not. Thank
God, you have got no hint of it from any one
but me."

"Go on, go on," said Mrs. Carruthers, in a
yet fainter voice.

"Do you remember, when George was here
in February, you gave him money to buy a
coat?"

"Yes," Mrs. Carrutliers rather sighed than
said.

"He bought one at Evans's, and he was
remarked by the old man, who would know him
again if he saw him. The business on which
the strange gentleman came to master, was to
get him to help, as a magistrate, in finding the
person who bought that coat at Evans's,
Amherst."

"But why? What had he done? How was
the coat known?"

"My dear," said Mrs. Brookes, and now
she laid one arm gently round her mistress's
shoulder as she leaned against the pillows, " the
wearer of that coat is suspected of having
murdered a man, whose body was found by
the river-side in London the other day."

"My God!" moaned the mother, and a hue
as of death overspread her features.

'"My dear, he didn't do it. I'm sure he
didn't do it. I would stake my soul upon it;
it is some dreadful mistake. Keep up until I
have done, for God's sake, and George's sake,
keep up—remember there is no danger unless you
lose courage and give them a hint of anything.
Be sure we shall find he has sold the coat to
some one else, and that some one has done this
dreadful thing. But you must keep up—here,
let me bathe your face and hands while I am
talking, and then I'll go away, and, when Dixon
comes, you must just say you are not well, and
don't mean to get up to breakfast, and then I
shall have an excuse for coming to you. There!
you are better now, I am sure. Yes, yes,
don't try to speak; I'll tell you without asking,"
she went on, in a rapid whisper. "The
strange gentleman and master saw Evans, and
he told them when he sold the coat, and the
sort of person he sold it to; but Gibson and
Thomas say he could not have told them
distinct, for they heard the strange gentleman
saying to master, in the carriage, that the
description was of no use. And I am certain
sure that there is not the least suspicion that he
has ever been in Amherst since he bought the
coat."

"I don't understand," stammered Mrs.
Carruthers. "When—when did this happen?"

"A few days ago: it's all in the papers."

Mrs. Carruthers groaned.

"Nothing about George, but about finding
the body and the coat. It is all here." The
old woman took a tightly folded newspaper from
her pocket. The light was too dim for her to
read its contents to her mistress, who was
wholly incapable of reading them herself. Mrs.
Brookes, paper in hand, was going to the
window, to withdraw the curtain completely, when
she paused.

"No," she said; "Dixon will be here too
soon. Better that you should ring for her at
once, and send her for me. Can you do this,
my dear? keeping yourself up by remembering
that this is only some dreadful mistake, and
that George never did it—no, no more than
you did. Can you let me go away for a few
minutes, and then come back to you? Remember,
we cannot be too careful, for his sake, and if
Dixon found me here at an unusual hour, the
servants would know there is some secret or
another between us."

"I can bear anything—I can do anything
you tell me," was Mrs. Carruthers's answer, in
a whisper.

"Well then, first lie down, and I will close
the curtains and leave you. When I have had
time to get to my room, ring for Dixon. Tell
her you are ill. When she lets the light in she
will see that for herself, and desire her to send
me to you."

In another minute, the room was once more
in darkness, and Mrs. Brookes went down the
grand staircase, in order to avoid meeting any
of the servants, crossed the hall, and gained her
own apartment without being observed. A
short time, but long to her impatience, had
elapsed, when Mrs. Carruthers's maid knocked
at the door, and having received permission to
enter, came in with an important face. She
delivered the message which Mrs. Brookes was
expecting, and added that she had never seen
her lady look so ill in all her born days.

"Looks more like a corpse, I do assure you,
than like the lady as I undressed last night, and
circles under her eyes, dreadful. I only hope
it ain't typus, for I'm dreadful nervous, not
being used to sickness, which indeed I never
engaged for. But, if you please, Mrs. Brookes,
you was to go to her immediate, and I'm to let
Miss Carruthers know as she's to make tea this
morning for master, all to their two selves,
which he won't like it, I dare say."

Then the talkative damsel went her way to Mrs.
Carruthers's room, and Mrs. Brookes hurried
to that of her unhappy mistress. She had again
raised herself in the bed, and was looking
eagerly towards the door, with hollow, haggard
eyes, and lips ashy pale, whose trembling she in
vain tried to control.

"Lock both doors, Ellen," she said, "and tell