"_Lady Chetwynde_."
CHAPTER LXXVII.
THE CRYPTOGRAM DECIPHERED.
Hitherto, and up to that last moment just spoken of, this whole affair had been one long puzzle to Obed, one, too, which was exceedingly unpleasant and utterly incomprehensible. While Lord Chetwynde had been pacing the gallery in a fever of agitation, Obed had been a prey to thoughts less intense and less painful, no doubt, but yet equally perplexing. He had been summing up in his mind the general outlines of this grand mystery, and the results were something like this:
_First_, there was the fact that these three were all old friends, or, at least, that two of them were equally dear to Mrs. Hart.
_Secondly_, that on the appearance of Mrs. Hart each was unable to account for the emotion of the other.
_Thirdly_, that Miss Lorton and Windham had been living under assumed names ever since he had known them.
_Fourthly_, that Miss Lorton and Windham had hitherto been uncommonly fond of one another's society.
_Fifthly_, that this was not surprising, since Windham had saved Miss Lorton from a frightful death.
_Sixthly_, what? Why this, that Mrs. Hart had solemnly declared that Windham was not Wind ham at all, but Guy Molyneux, son of the late Earl of Chetwynde; and that Miss Lorton was not Miss Lorton, but Zillah, daughter of Neville Pomeroy, and wife of Lord Chetwynde!