"I have perfect confidence in your truth, my dearest," he said. "I am as sure of your goodness and innocence before your father's explanation as I can possibly be after it."
There was a witness to this loving declaration that neither of them bargained for. Rose, getting tired of her own company, had run down-stairs to entertain herself with her music. Stanford had left the door ajar when he returned; and Rose was just in time to see the embrace and hear the tender speech. Just in time, too, to fly before Reginald left the drawing-room and took his way to the study.
Rose played no piano that morning; but, locked in her own room, made the most of what she had heard and seen. Kate had the drawing-room to herself, and sat, with clasped hands, looking out at the bright March morning. The business of the day went on in the house, doors opened and shut, Grace and Eeny came in and went away again, Doctor Frank came up to see Agnes Darling, who was nearly well; and in the study, Reginald Stanford was hearing the story of Miss Danton's midnight stroll.
"You must have heard it sooner or later," Captain Danton said, "between this and next June. As well now as any other time."
Stanford bowed and waited.
"You have not resided in this house for so many weeks without hearing of the invalid upstairs, whom Ogden attends, who never appears in our midst, and about whom all in the house are more or less curious?"
"Mr. Richards?" said Stanford, surprised.
"Yes, Mr. Richards; you have heard of him. It was Mr. Richards whom you saw with Kate last night."
Reginald Stanford dropped the paper-knife he had been drumming with, and stared blankly at Captain Danton.
"Mr. Richards!" he echoed; "Mr. Richards, who is too ill to leave his room!"