She arose suddenly, her hands clasped above her heart, her eyes wildly bright.
"I have it!" she cried hoarsely. "My mother lives! She has committed some sin that dad fears to tell me, for which he will never see her again, and this Evelyn Chandler knows! Oh, mother, is it true? Is that why he never speaks your name? If it is true, dear, I know that you are innocent, and perhaps I can prove it! I will try, oh, I will try!"
There was no possibility of sleep that night, and when morning broke it found her still sitting there, forming her plans to accomplish a thing the full knowledge of which was to cause her the bitterest sorrow she had ever known.
And in the next room, separated only by a thin partition, Godfrey Cuyler was planning how he could save her.
[CHAPTER III.]
"Ask Pyne not to keep me waiting. I am in a great hurry!"
The speaker was an elderly man of unusually fine presence, a strong cast of countenance, and a manner that bespoke him a man born to command, a trifle dictatorial and overbearing perhaps, but just to the last degree, save where his overweening pride was concerned. He did not even glance about him, but sat down in a preoccupied way that would have told an observer how deeply he was thinking.
"Good-morning, Mr. Chandler!" Lynde exclaimed, entering the room where he sat. "Is not this charming weather?"
"Yes; but I have not come to you to talk about the weather," answered the elder man testily. "The fact is, a most infernally unpleasant thing has been going on at my house for some time, and I have borne it just as long as I can. I have come to you for your advice."