As I approached she heard me, and turned round.
My blood curdled in my veins. The strange woman in the garden was Mrs. Rubelle!
I could neither move nor speak. She came up to me, as composedly as ever, with her flowers in her hand.
“What is the matter, ma’am?” she said quietly.
“ You here!” I gasped out. “Not gone to London! Not gone to Cumberland!”
Mrs. Rubelle smelt at her flowers with a smile of malicious pity.
“Certainly not,” she said. “I have never left Blackwater Park.”
I summoned breath enough and courage enough for another question.
“Where is Miss Halcombe?”
Mrs. Rubelle fairly laughed at me this time, and replied in these words—
“Miss Halcombe, ma’am, has not left Blackwater Park either.”
When I heard that astounding answer, all my