“I was busy with the dog,” Lady Lydiard answered.  “Isabel Miller was of no use in the boudoir, and I told her to seal it for me.”

Mr. Troy started.  The new direction in which he was pushing his inquiries began to look like the right direction already.  “Miss Isabel Miller,” he proceeded, “has been a resident under your Ladyship’s roof for some little time, I believe?”

“For nearly two years, Mr. Troy.”

“As your Ladyship’s companion and reader?”

“As my adopted daughter,” her Ladyship answered, with marked emphasis.

Wise Mr. Troy rightly interpreted the emphasis as a warning to him to suspend the examination of her Ladyship, and to address to Mr. Moody the far more serious questions which were now to come.

“Did anyone give you the letter before you left the house with it?” he said to the steward.  “Or did you take it yourself?”

“I took it myself, from the table here.”

“Was it sealed?”

“Yes.”

“Was anybody present when you took the letter from the table?”

“Miss Isabel was present.”

“Did you find her alone in the room?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lady Lydiard opened her lips to speak, and checked herself.  Mr. Troy, having cleared the ground before him, put the fatal question.

“Mr. Moody,” he said, “when Miss Isabel was instructed to seal the letter, did she know that a bank-note was inclosed in it?”

Instead of replying, Robert drew back from the lawyer with a look of horror.  Lady Lydiard started to her feet—­and checked herself again, on the point of speaking.

“Answer him, Moody,” she said, putting a strong constraint on herself.

Robert answered very unwillingly.  “I took the liberty of reminding her ladyship that she had left her letter unsealed,” he said.  “And I mentioned as my excuse for speaking,”—­he stopped, and corrected himself—­“I believe I mentioned that a valuable inclosure was in the letter.”

“You believe?” Mr. Troy repeated.  “Can’t you speak more positively than that?”

“I can speak positively,” said Lady Lydiard, with her eyes on the lawyer.  “Moody did mention the inclosure in the letter—­in Isabel Miller’s hearing as well as in mine.”  She paused, steadily controlling herself.  “And what of that, Mr. Troy?” she added, very quietly and firmly.

Mr. Troy answered quietly and firmly, on his side.  “I am surprised that your Ladyship should ask the question,” he said.

“I persist in repeating the question,” Lady Lydiard rejoined.  “I say that Isabel Miller knew of the inclosure in my letter—­and I ask, What of that?”

“And I answer,” retorted the impenetrable lawyer, “that the suspicion of theft rests on your Ladyship’s adopted daughter, and on nobody else.”

“It’s false!” cried Robert, with a burst of honest indignation.  “I wish to God I had never said a word to you about the loss of the bank-note!  Oh, my Lady! my Lady! don’t let him distress you!  What does he know about it?”