"Do you know this person?" she asked in a low voice, but one so clear that it must have reached the woman's ears.
"Know her?" said Westwood, starting and looking suspiciously at the black figure. "No, I don't know her, unless she's——She's very much like a person staying with my landlady just now—a Miss Meldreth. I wonder——Shall I speak to her, Cynthia?"
But the woman had already moved from her standing position by the bench, and was walking away as fast as she could conveniently go. She had fair hair and a fine figure, but her face could not be seen.
"It is very like," said Westwood, standing up and staring after her. "She's been very friendly with me since I came; and I've had tea with her and Mrs. Gunn more than once. Strange to relate; she comes from Beechfield too. She's the daughter of old Mrs. Meldreth, who used to keep the sweetie-shop; don't you remember her?"
"Then she was watching you—following you! Oh, father, do be careful!"
"What should she be watching me for?" said Westwood, but with rather a troubled look upon his face. "I've never had aught to do with her."
"Did you hear of her at all at Beechfield?"
"There was a bit of gossip about her and her mother; they said that Mrs. Vane at Beechfield Hall knew them and was kind to them. Some said that she paid them; but nobody knew what for."
"And she is lodging in the same house with you and following you about? Then I'll tell you what she is, father—she is a spy of the Vanes. She suspects you and wants to put you in prison again. Oh, father, do change your lodgings, or go straight back to America! You have been in England a month, and it is very dangerous. You have nothing to stay for—nothing; and, if you like"—her voice sank almost to a whisper—"I will go back with you."
"Will you, Cynthy? There's my own good girl!" said her father, an unwonted sense of pleasure beaming in his eyes. "You're one of the right sort, you are, and you sha'n't regret it. But, as to danger, I don't see it. There's nobody can recognise me, as you are well aware; and what else have I to fear?" Cynthia had noted before that he was almost childishly vain of his disguise. She herself was not disposed to rely upon it with half so blind a confidence, for she knew how easily the secrets of "making-up" can be read by an experienced eye. "Besides, Miss Meldreth was lodging at Mrs. Gunn's before ever I went there—so that's a pure coincidence. If she'd come after I went down to Beechfield, there might be something in it. But it's an accidental thing."