"Only this much,—she has been seen walking alone with this man, after dark, in Nessborough Hollow."
"It must be a lie; a villanous invention! or if—if she has been seen to meet this man, he is some relation. Yes, I have reason to think that she has some relation staying in this neighbourhood."
"But why, in that case, should she meet the man secretly, at such an hour, while her husband is lying ill?"
"There may be a hundred reasons."
Mr. Raymond shrugged his shoulders. "Can you suggest one?" he asked.
Roland Lansdell's head sank forward on his breast. No; he could think of no reason why Isabel Gilbert should meet this stranger secretly—unless there were some kind of guilt involved in their association. Secrecy and guilt go so perpetually together, that it is almost difficult for the mind to dissever them.
"But has she been seen to meet him?" cried Roland, suddenly. "No; I will not believe it. Some woman has been seen walking with some man; and the Graybridge vultures, eager to swoop down upon my poor innocent dove, must have it that the woman is Isabel Gilbert. No; I will not believe this story."
"So be it, then," answered Mr. Raymond. "In that case we can drop the subject."
But Roland was not so easily to be satisfied. The poisoned arrow had entered far into his soul, and he must needs drag the cruel barb backwards and forwards in the wound.
"Not till you have given me the name of your authority," he said.