“Hush!” said Lady Lydiard.  “Control yourself, and hear what he has to say.”  She rested her hand on Moody’s shoulder, partly to encourage him, partly to support herself; and, fixing her eyes again on Mr. Troy, repeated his last words, “’Suspicion rests on my adopted daughter, and on nobody else.’  Why on nobody else?”

“Is your Ladyship prepared to suspect the Rector of St. Anne’s of embezzlement, or your own relatives and equals of theft?” Mr. Troy asked.  “Does a shadow of doubt rest on the servants?  Not if Mr. Moody’s evidence is to be believed.  Who, to our own certain knowledge, had access to the letter while it was unsealed?  Who was alone in the room with it?  And who knew of the inclosure in it?  I leave the answer to your Ladyship.”

“Isabel Miller is as incapable of an act of theft as I am.  There is my answer, Mr. Troy.”

The lawyer bowed resignedly, and advanced to the door.

“Am I to take your Ladyship’s generous assertion as finally disposing of the question of the lost bank-note?” he inquired.

Lady Lydiard met the challenge without shrinking from it.

“No!” she said.  “The loss of the bank-note is known out of my house.  Other persons may suspect this innocent girl as you suspect her.  It is due to Isabel’s reputation—­her unstained reputation, Mr. Troy!—­that she should know what has happened, and should have an opportunity of defending herself.  She is in the next room, Moody.  Bring her here.”

Robert’s courage failed him:  he trembled at the bare idea of exposing Isabel to the terrible ordeal that awaited her.  “Oh, my Lady!” he pleaded, “think again before you tell the poor girl that she is suspected of theft.  Keep it a secret from her—­the shame of it will break her heart!”

“Keep it a secret,” said Lady Lydiard, “when the Rector and the Rector’s wife both know of it!  Do you think they will let the matter rest where it is, even if I could consent to hush it up?  I must write to them; and I can’t write anonymously after what has happened.  Put yourself in Isabel’s place, and tell me if you would thank the person who knew you to be innocently exposed to a disgraceful suspicion, and who concealed it from you?  Go, Moody!  The longer you delay, the harder it will be.”

With his head sunk on his breast, with anguish written in every line of his face, Moody obeyed.  Passing slowly down the short passage which connected the two rooms, and still shrinking from the duty that had been imposed on him, he paused, looking through the curtains which hung over the entrance to the boudoir.

CHAPTER VII.

THE sight that met Moody’s view wrung him to the heart.