“Lady Carruthers,” he said, “have you seen today’s ’Times’?”

“No,” she replied; “I have been so deeply engaged with visitors, I have really not opened it.”

“Then I must ask you to prepare yourself for something very disagreeable.  I wish I knew how to save you from the knowledge—­but I do not.”

The diamond necklace rose and fell as though she breathed heavily; her face grew quite white.

“Does it concern my son, Mr. Carruthers?” she asked.

“Alas, that I must say yes, Lady Carruthers,” he answered; “I am not a man of sentiment, but I would give many years of my life to spare you this pain.”

“Is he dead?” she asked, hoarsely.

“No, it is not so bad as that,” he replied.

“Not death; and I know it is not disgrace.  I can bear what you have to tell me, Mr. Forster.”

He took both papers from his pocket and laid them before her.

“Read this paragraph first,” he said; “and then this.”

She did as he wished.  When she read the second, her proud face flushed, and she drew her figure to its full height.

“What does this mean?” she said, contemptuously.  “My son, Mr. Carruthers, charged with stealing a watch?  What does it mean, Mr. Forster?”

“Lady Carruthers,” said the lawyer, “it is true.  I was in court when your son, under the name of John Smith, pleaded guilty to the charge of getting in the room belonging to Count Jules St. Croix, and I, myself, heard him sentenced to six months’ imprisonment.”

She sat for some minutes, silent, mute and motionless.  Then in a low voice she asked:  “Is he mad?”

“That was my first thought.  It is some weeks since I had seen him, and yesterday morning a note was brought to my office, from a gentleman in court, telling me your son was in the dock.  I hastened there and found it true.  You may imagine how quickly I followed him and implored of him to tell me the mystery, for mystery I feel sure there is.  Instead of looking ashamed of himself and miserable, he had a light in his face that puzzled me.  I blamed him, told him the consequences—­how his life would be useless to him after this, but he only smiled; my words made no impression on him; he evidently derived comfort and support from some source known to himself and no others.”

“And is it possible?” asked Lady Carruthers, with ghastly face; “does he lie in prison now?”

“He does indeed, and there he must remain until the six months are ended.”

CHAPTER V.

Lady Carruthers.

My lady rose from her seat with an air of almost tragical dignity.

“My son in prison!” she cried; “I cannot believe it.  What has come over him?  Can you explain the mystery to me, Mr. Forster?”

“I cannot—­the only thing that occurs to me is that he has gone to this count’s room for some purpose that he will confide to no one, and that he has taken the watch in his hands and was discovered with it.  He asked me to tell you that the honor of the Carruthers sealed his lips.”