won't interrupt you again. Lord! how interesting it is!—ain't it, Mr. Moody? Please to go on, miss.'

But Isabel, though she spoke with perfect sweetness and temper, declined to go on. 'I had better tell you, sir, how I came to seal her Ladyship's letter,' she said. 'If I may venture on giving my opinion, that part of my story seems to be the only part of it which relates to your business with me to-day.'

Without further preface she described the circumstances which had led to her assuming the perilous responsibility of sealing the letter. Old Sharon's wandering attention began to wander again: he was evidently occupied in setting another trap. For the second time he interrupted Isabel in the middle of a sentence. Suddenly stopping short, he pointed to some sheep, at the further end of the field through which they happened to be passing at the moment.

'There's a pretty sight,' he said. 'There are the innocent sheep a-feeding—all following each other as usual. And there's the sly dog waiting behind the gate till the sheep wants his services. Reminds me of Old Sharon and the public!' He chuckled over the discovery of the remarkable similarity between the sheep-dog and himself, and the sheep and the public—and then burst upon Isabel with a second question. 'I say! didn't you look at the letter before you sealed it?'

'Certainly not!' Isabel answered.

'Not even at the address?'

'No!'

'Thinking of something else—eh?'

'Very likely,' said Isabel.

'Was it your new bonnet, my dear?'

Isabel laughed. 'Women are not always thinking of their new bonnets,' she answered.

Old Sharon, to all appearance, dropped the subject there. He lifted his lean brown forefinger and pointed again—this time to a house at a short distance from them. 'That's a farmhouse, surely?' he said. 'I'm thirsty after my roll down the hill. Do you think, Miss, they would give me a drink of milk?'

'I am sure they would,' said Isabel. 'I know the people. Shall I go and ask them?'

'Thank you, my dear. One word more before you go. About the sealing of that letter? What could you have been thinking of while you were doing it?' He looked hard at her, and took her suddenly by the arm. 'Was it your sweetheart?' he asked, in a whisper.

The question instantly reminded Isabel that she had been thinking of Hardyman while she sealed the letter. She blushed as the remembrance crossed her mind. Robert, noticing the embarrassment, spoke sharply to Old Sharon. 'You have no right to put such a question to a young lady,' he said. 'Be a little more careful for the future.'

'There! there! don't be hard on me,' pleaded the old rogue. 'An ugly old man like me may make his innocent little joke—eh, miss? I'm sure you're too sweet-tempered to be angry when I meant no offense.. Show me that you bear no malice. Go, like a forgiving young angel, and ask for the milk.'

Nobody appealed to Isabel's sweetness of temper in vain. 'I will do it with pleasure,' she said—and hastened away to the farmhouse.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE instant Isabel was out of hearing, Old Sharon slapped Moody on the shoulder to rouse his attention. 'I've got her out of the way,' he said, 'now listen to me. My business with the young angel is done—I may go back to London.'

Moody looked at him with astonishment.

'Lord! how little you know of thieves!' exclaimed Old Sharon. 'Why, man alive, I have tried her with two plain tests! If you wanted a proof of her innocence, there it was, as plain as the nose in your face. Did you hear me ask her how she came to seal the letter—just when her mind was running on something else?'

'I heard you,' said Moody.

'Did you see how she started and stared at me?'

'I did.'

'Well, I can tell you this—if she had stolen the money she would neither have started nor stared. She would have had her answer ready beforehand in her own mind, in case of accidents. There's only one thing in my experience that you can never do with a thief, when a thief happens to be a woman—you can never take her by surprise. Put that remark by in your mind; one day you may find a use for remembering it. Did you see her blush, and look quite hurt in her feelings, pretty dear, when I asked about her sweetheart? Do you think a thief, in her place, would have shown such a face as that? Not she! The thief would have been relieved. The thief would have said to herself, 'All right! the more the old fool talks about sweethearts the further he is from tracing the robbery to Me!' Yes! yes! the ground's cleared now, Master Moody. I've reckoned up the servants; I've questioned Miss Isabel; I've made my inquiries in all the other quarters that may be useful to us—and what's the result? The advice I gave, when you and the lawyer first came to me—I hate that fellow!—remains as sound and good advice as ever. I have got the thief in my mind,' said Old Sharon, closing his cunning eyes and then opening them again, 'as plain as I've got you in my eye at this minute. No more of that now,' he went on, looking round sharply at the path that led to the farmhouse. 'I've something particular to say to you—and there's barely time to say it before that nice girl comes back. Look here! Do you happen to be acquainted with Mr.-Honorable-Hardyman's valet?'

Moody's eyes rested on Old Sharon with a searching and doubtful look.

'Mr. Hardyman's valet?' he repeated. 'I wasn't prepared to hear Mr. Hardyman's name.'

Old Sharon looked at Moody, in his turn, with a flash of sardonic triumph.

'Oho!' he said. 'Has my good boy learned his lesson? Do you see the thief through my spectacles, already?'

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