"But she was to meet some one at the station, perhaps. There was some one going away from Plymouth with her."
"I think not, sir. I feel sure Mdlle. Duprez would have told me if there had been any one going with her."
"When was Miss Heathcote last here?" asked Bothwell abruptly. "You know Miss Heathcote—a pupil—a young lady from Bodmin?"
The girl put on a countenance of profound thought, as if she were calling upon her memory for a stupendous effort, looking back into the night of ages.
"I'm sure I can't say, sir; but it was a long time ago—quite early in the summer."
"You are sure she was not here yesterday?"
"O yes, sir. Mademoiselle left Plymouth a week ago, and nobody called yesterday."
"O, she left Plymouth a week ago, did she, and nobody called yesterday?" repeated Bothwell, with a despairing helplessness which smote the slavey's heart.
It seemed a cruel thing to deceive such a nice-looking, outspoken gentleman—about his young lady, too—for it was evident to Mary Jane that Miss Heathcote must have been keeping company with this gentleman, and that she had broken off with him. If Mary Jane's fidelity to the little Frenchwoman had not been firm as a rock, she would have given way at this point, and told Bothwell the truth.
"Kindly give me Mdlle. Duprez's address," he said. "I have very important business with her, and should like to telegraph immediately."