On turning the corner of the house, and gaining a view of the garden, I was startled by seeing a stranger walking in it. The stranger was a woman—she was lounging along the path with her back to me, and was gathering the flowers.
As I approached she heard me, and turned round.
My blood curdled in my veins. The strange woman in the garden was Mrs. Rubelle!
I could neither move nor speak. She came up to me, as composedly as ever, with her flowers in her hand.
“What is the matter, ma’am?” she said quietly.
“You here!” I gasped out. “Not gone to London! Not gone to Cumberland!”
Mrs. Rubelle smelt at her flowers with a smile of malicious pity.
“Certainly not,” she said. “I have never left Blackwater Park.”
I summoned breath enough and courage enough for another question.
“Where is Miss Halcombe?”