You're an unlucky lot. I believe there's a
curse on you. I'll leave you this very day.
Yes! I'll leave that poor Ailsie, too. I will!
No good will ever come to you!"

Mr. Openshaw was utterly astonished at
this speech; most of which was completely
unintelligible to him, as may easily be
supposed. Before he could make up his mind
what to say, or what to do, Norah had left
the room. I do not think he had ever really
intended to send for the police to this old
servant of his wife's; for he had never for a
moment doubted her perfect honesty. But he
had intended to compel her to tell him who
the man was, and in this he was baffled.
He was, consequently, much irritated. He
returned to his uncle and aunt in a state of
great annoyance and perplexity, and told
them he could get nothing out of the woman;
that some man had been in the house the
night before; but that she refused to tell who
he was. At this moment his wife came in,
greatly agitated, and asked what had
happened to Norah; for that she had put on her
things in passionate haste, and had left the
house.

"This looks suspicious," said Mr. Chadwick.
"It is not the way in which an
honest person would have acted."

Mr. Openshaw kept silence. He was sorely
perplexed. But Mrs. Openshaw turned round
on Mr . Chadwick with a sudden fierceness
no one ever saw in her before.

"You don't know Norah, uncle! She is
gone because she is deeply hurt at being
suspected. O, I wish I had seen her—that I had
spoken to her myself. She would have told
me anything." Alice wrung her hands.

"I must confess," continued Mr. Chadwick
to his nephew, in a lower voice, " I can't
make you out. You used to be a word and a
blow, and oftenest the blow first; and now,
when there is every cause for suspicion, you
just do nought. Your missus is a very good
woman, I grant; but she may have been put
upon as well as other folk, I suppose. If you
don't send for the police, I shall."

"Very well," replied Mr. Openshaw, surlily.
"I can't clear Norah. She won't clear
herself, as I believe she might if she would.
Only I wash my hands of it; for I am sure
the woman herself is honest, and she's lived
a long time with my wife, and I don't like
her to come to shame."

"But she will then be forced to clear
herself. That, at any rate, will be a good thing."

"Very weli, very well! I am heart-sick
of the whole business. Come, Alice, come
up to the babies; they'll be in a sore way.
I tell you, uncle! " he said, turning round
once more to Mr. Chadwick, suddenly and
sharply, after his eye had fallen on Alice's
wan, tearful anxious face; " I'll have none
sending for the police after all. I'll buy my
aunt twice as handsome a brooch this very
day; but I'll not have Norah suspected, and
my missus plagued. There's for you."

He and his wife left the room. Mr. Chadwick
quietly waited till lie was out of hearing,
and then said to his wife; " For all
Tom's heroics, I'm just quietly going for a
detective, wench. Thou need'st know nought
about it."

He went to the police-station, and made a
statement of the case. He was gratified by
the impression which the evidence against
Norah seemed to make. The men all agreed
in his opinion, and steps were to be
immediately taken to find out where she was.
Most probably, as they suggested, she had
gone at once to the man, who, to all
appearance, was her lover. When. Mr. Chadwick
asked how they would find her out? they
smiled, shook their heads, and spoke of
mysterious but infallible ways and means.
He returned to his nephew's house with a
very comfortable opinion of his own sagacity.
He was met by his wife with a penitent
face:

"O master, I've found my brooch! It
was just sticking by its pin in the flounce of
my brown silk, that I wore yesterday. I took
it off in a hurry, and it must have caught in
it; and I hung up my gown in the closet.
Just now, when I was going to fold it up,
there was the brooch! I'm very vexed, but
I never dreamt but what it was lost!"

Her husband muttering something very
like " Confound thee and thy brooch too! I
wish I'd never given it thee," snatched up his
hat, and rushed back to the station; hoping
to be in time to stop the police from searching
for Norah. But a detective was already
gone off on the errand.

Where was Norah? Half mad with the
strain of the fearful secret, she had hardly
slept through the night for thinking what must
be done. Upon this terrible state of mind had
come Ailsie's questions, showing that she
had seen the Man, as the unconscious child
called her father. Lastly came the suspicion
of her honesty. She was little less than
crazy as she ran up-stairs and dashed on her
bonnet and shawl; leaving all else, even her
purse, behind her. In that house she would
not stay. That was all she knew or was clear
about. She would not even see the children
again, for fear it should weaken her. She
feared above everything Mr. Frank's return
to claim his wife. She could not tell what
remedy there was for a sorrow so tremendous,
for her to stay to witness. The
desire of escaping from the coming event
was a stronger motive for her departure
than her soreness about the supicions
directed against her; although this last
had been the final goad to the course she
took. She walked away almost at headlong
speed; sobbing as she went, as she had not
dared to do during the past night for fear of
exciting wonder in those who might hear
her. Then she stopped. An idea came into
her mind that she would leave London
altogether, and betake herself to her native town