to Laura not to speak of the note the latter had produced.
“When my sister came to South Wennock to stay with old Mrs. Jenkinson, we have reason to believe that you attended her, Mr. Carlton. I want to know by what name she then went.”
Again astonishment appeared to be the prevailing emotion of Mr. Carlton. It seemed that he could not understand.
“I protest, Lady Jane, you are asking me things that I know nothing of. I never was inside Mrs. Jenkinson’s house in my life. John Grey attends there.”
“Clarice would not have the Greys; Clarice preferred you: and Clarice was there. Was she not confined in Palace Street?”
Mr. Carlton raised his hand to smooth his brow. “What mistake you are labouring under, I cannot tell,” he presently said. “I know nothing of what you are asking me; I know nothing of your sister, or her health, or her movements; and I know as little of Mrs. Jenkinson.”
“You knew Miss Beauchamp at Mrs. West’s?” rejoined Jane.
“I used to see a lady there of that name, I remember, the Wests’ governess,” he replied. “Surely, Lady Jane, you must make some strange mistake in calling her your sister?”
“She was indeed our sister, Mr. Carlton. Laura, it seems, has never liked to mention the subject of Clarice to you, but we have been searching for her all these years.”
“Why has she not liked to mention it?” interrupted Mr. Carlton.
“From a feeling of pride, I believe. But—can you not tell me something, Mr. Carlton? Did Clarice marry Tom West?”
“Lady Jane, I cannot tell you anything,” he repeated, some annoyance in his tone. “Miss Beauchamp was the Wests’ governess, she was not mine. All I can say is, that if she married Tom West, I never knew it. So far as I believe, Tom West went out to India a single man. When I came down here to settle, I lost sight of them all.”
“But—surely you can tell me something?” Jane persisted, collecting her senses, which seemed in a maze. “Did you not attend my sister here, at Mrs. Jenkinson’s? You were certainly summoned to do so.”
“What grounds have you for thinking so? By whom was I summoned?”
Jane’s tongue was again tied. She could not tell of the note she had just read.
“The best answer I can give you, Lady Jane, is but a repetition of what I have already said,” he resumed, finding she did not speak. “I never attended anyone at Mrs. Jenkinson’s in my life: I never was summoned to do so.”
“And you can tell me nothing?”
“I cannot indeed.”
Jane rose from her chair, dissatisfied. “Will you pardon me for saying, Mr. Carlton, that I think you could say more if you would. I must find my sister, alive or dead. A curious suspicion has been latterly upon me that that little boy at Tupper’s cottage is her child,” she continued, in agitation. “I wish you could help me.”
He shook his head, intimating that he could not, opened the door for Lady Jane, and bowed her out. Laura, waiting in Jane’s room still, questioned her when she got up stairs.
“Well?” said she.
“Mr. Carlton either does not know anything, or will not disclose it,” said Jane. “I think it is the latter.”
“Did he ever know Clarice?”
“As Miss Beauchamp; not as Clarice Chesney. I believe he spoke truth there. He seems to have a difficulty in believing still that she was our sister. He says he never was inside Mrs. Jenkinson’s house in his life. Laura, I should have shown the note: I could have questioned to so much more purpose.”
“Ah, that would not do at any price,” laughed Laura. “I got it out of one of his hiding-places.”
“How can you laugh at this moment?” rebuked Jane. “I feel as if some heavy secret were on the point of discovery. You need not go away, Judith.”
Laura opened her eyes. “What secret?”
“How can I tell? I wish I could tell. If it were all straight and fair, why should Mr. Carlton betray agitation, and refuse to answer? There’s no doubt my questions did agitate him. A horrible doubt is growing upon me, Laura: whether those young Wests can have deceived Clarice into a marriage which would not, or did not, hold good—and Mr. Carlton was the confidant of their plans!”
“Do you suppose Mr. Carlton would sully himself by anything so cruel and disgraceful?” flashed Laura. “He has his own faults; but he would not lend himself to a business of that sort.”
“Men think a poor friendless governess legitimate game sometimes,” spoke Jane in a low tone. “And she was only known as the unprotected girl, Clarice Beauchamp. Rely upon it, Tom West worked ill to Clarice in some shape or other; I fear Mr. Carlton knew of it, and is trying to screen him. It was so shadowed forth in that dreadful dream: Mr. Carlton was mixed up with it.”
“What was that dream, Jane?—tell it me now,” whispered Laura, eagerly; for, however it might have pleased Laura in general to ridi-