permit it, I am sure.'
He could say no more. In those simple words the cry of his heart reached her. 'Forgive me, Robert,' she answered, gratefully, 'if I said anything to pain you when we spoke together a little while since. I didn't mean it.' She gave him her hand, and looked timidly over her shoulder at Lady Lydiard. 'Let me go!' she said, in low, broken tones, 'Let me go!'
Mr. Troy heard her, and stepped forward to interfere before Lady Lydiard could speak. The man had recovered his self-control; the lawyer took his place again on the scene.
'You must not leave us, my dear,' he said to Isabel, 'until I have put a question to Mr. Moody in which you are interested. Do you happen to have the number of the lost bank-note?' he asked, turning to the steward.
Moody produced his slip of paper with the number on it. Mr. Troy made two copies of it before he returned the paper. One copy he put in his pocket, the other he handed to Isabel.
'Keep it carefully,' he said. 'Neither you nor I know how soon it may be of use to you.'
Receiving the copy from him, she felt mechanically in her apron for her pocketbook. She had used it, in playing with the dog, as an object to hide from him; but she had suffered, and was still suffering, too keenly to be capable of the effort of remembrance. Moody, eager to help her even in the most trifling thing, guessed what had happened. 'You were playing with Tommie,' he said; 'is it in the next room?'
The dog heard his name pronounced through the open door. The next moment he trotted into the drawing- room with Isabel's pocketbook in his mouth. He was a strong, well-grown Scotch terrier of the largest size, with bright, intelligent eyes, and a coat of thick curling white hair, diversified by two light brown patches on his back. As he reached the middle of the room, and looked from one to another of the persons present, the fine sympathy of his race told him that there was trouble among his human friends. His tail dropped; he whined softly as he approached Isabel, and laid her pocketbook at her feet.
She knelt as she picked up the pocketbook, and raised her playfellow of happier days to take her leave of him. As the dog put his paws on her shoulders, returning her caress, her first tears fell. 'Foolish of me,' she said, faintly, 'to cry over a dog. I can't help it. Good-by, Tommie!'
Putting him away from her gently, she walked towards the door. The dog instantly followed. She put him away from her, for the second time, and left him. He was not to be denied; he followed her again, and took the skirt of her dress in his teeth, as if to hold her back. Robert forced the dog, growling and resisting with all his might, to let go of the dress. 'Don't be rough with him,' said Isabel. 'Put him on her ladyship's lap; he will be quieter there.' Robert obeyed. He whispered to Lady Lydiard as she received the dog; she seemed to be still incapable of speaking—she bowed her head in silent assent. Robert hurried back to Isabel before she had passed the door. 'Not alone!' he said entreatingly. 'Her Ladyship permits it, Isabel. Let me see you safe to your aunt's house.'
Isabel looked at him, felt for him, and yielded.
'Yes,' she answered softly; 'to make amends for what I said to you when I was thoughtless and happy!' She waited a little to compose herself before she spoke her farewell words to Lady Lydiard. 'Good-by, my Lady. Your kindness has not been thrown away on an ungrateful girl. I love you, and thank you, with all my heart.'
Lady Lydiard rose, placing the dog on the chair as she left it. She seemed to have grown older by years, instead of by minutes, in the short interval that had passed since she had hidden her face from view. 'I can't bear it!' she cried, in husky, broken tones. 'Isabel! Isabel! I forbid you to leave me!'
But one person could venture to resist her. That person was Mr. Troy—and Mr. Troy knew it.
'Control yourself,' he said to her in a whisper. 'The girl is doing what is best and most becoming in her position—and is doing it with a patience and courage wonderful to see. Sh e places herself under the protection of her nearest relative, until her character is vindicated and her position in your house is once more beyond a doubt. Is this a time to throw obstacles in her way? Be worthy of yourself, Lady Lydiard and think of the day when she will return to you without the breath of a suspicion to rest on her!'
There was no disputing with him—he was too plainly in the right. Lady Lydiard submitted; she concealed the torture that her own resolution inflicted on her with an endurance which was, indeed, worthy of herself. Taking Isabel in her arms she kissed her in a passion of sorrow and love. 'My poor dear! My own sweet girl! don't suppose that this is a parting kiss! I shall see you again—often and often I shall see you again at your aunt's!' At a sign from Mr. Troy, Robert took Isabel's arm in his and led her away. Tommie, watching her from his chair, lifted his little white muzzle as his playfellow looked back on passing the doorway. The long, melancholy, farewell howl of the dog was the last sound Isabel Miller heard as she left the house.
PART THE SECOND.
THE DISCOVERY.
CHAPTER VIII.
ON the day after Isabel's departure, diligent Mr. Troy set forth for the Head Office in Whitehall to consult the police on the question of the missing money. He had previously sent information of the robbery to the Bank of England, and had also advertised the loss in the daily newspapers.
The air was so pleasant, and the sun was so bright, that he determined on proceeding to his destination on foot. He was hardly out of sight of his own offices when he was overtaken by a friend, who was also walking in the direction of Whitehall. This gentleman was a person of considerable worldly wisdom and experience; he had been officially associated with cases of striking and notorious crime, in which Government had lent its assistance to discover and punish the criminals. The opinion of a person in this position might be of the greatest value to Mr. Troy, whose practice as a solicitor had thus far never brought him into collision with thieves and mysteries. He accordingly decided, in Isabel's interests, on confiding to his friend the nature of his errand to the police. Concealing the name, but concealing nothing else, he described what had happened on the previous day at Lady Lydiard's house, and then put the question plainly to his companion.
'What would you do in my place?'
'In your place,' his friend answered quietly, 'I should not waste time and money in consulting the police.'
'Not consult the police!' exclaimed Mr. Troy in amazement. 'Surely, I have not made myself understood? I am
