"You do not know," she said, "how my heart has turned to you since Doris spoke of the 'gentleman and poet.' Aristocrat as I am, I do not think any man could have a grander title. To your honor, as a gentleman, I trust my secret—you will never betray it."
He bowed low.
"I would rather die," he said.
"I believe you implicitly. This time, at least, my instinct has not failed me—I am safe in trusting you. Now, tell me, have you the faintest clew as to where Doris has gone?"
"Not the smallest; she has gone abroad—that is all I know."
"Then do you also go abroad. Remember that no money, no trouble, no toil must be spared—she must be found. Go first to France—to the cities most frequented by the English—then to Italy. For Heaven's sake, find her, and bring her back to Brackenside. When she is once here I can bear the rest. You will not fail me. Write as often as you can; and Heaven speed you."
He felt his own hand clasped in hers; then she placed a roll of bank-notes in it. The next moment she was gone, and Earle sat there alone, breathless with surprise.
CHAPTER XL.
A CLEW AT LAST.
"I feel very much," thought Earle, "as though I had been dreaming in one of the fairy circles. That proud, fair woman with such a story; and she Doris' mother. Doris, my golden-haired love, whom I have been loving, believing her to be some helpless waif or stray. Doris, belonging to the Studleighs and the proud Duke of Downsbury—what will she say? Great heavens! what will she say when she learns this?"