Having made up her mind to seek an explanation from Mrs. Tunks regarding the vision of the negro in the crystal—that is, if the old woman really had the same—Bella lost no time in executing her purpose. In two or three minutes she hastily reassumed her hat, cloak, and gloves, which she had removed while with Mrs. Coppersley. Then taking her sunshade, she left the -house by the front door. In the dining-room she could hear the refined tones of Vand and the coarse voice of Mrs. Coppersley, as they laughed and in the most manner. Evidently the pair had quite forgotten the recent tragedy, which had invested Bleacres with so a reputation. With a nervous shiver—for the merriment seemed to be singularly ill-timed—Bella closed the door softly, and walked down the corn-path. Glancing right and left, and straight ahead, she could see nothing of the black man, who had appeared and disappeared so mysteriously. Like the witches in "Macbeth," he had made himself into thin air, and had vanished.  
Bella felt uneasy, and on the face of it had great cause to be so. , and she had not the least doubt of this, Durgo was Cyril's servant, who came in search of him. She rather wondered that her lover should have so uncivilised an attendant, and resolved that if they married she would endeavour to get him to with the services of the man. But what struck her most, were the questions of Durgo. He evidently expected Cyril to meet Huxham and to have a quarrel. Also the stated time—of two weeks and some days—corresponded with the midnight visit of Cyril to the Manor-house. She then that the visit was paid, not at midnight, but about eight o'clock, and saw in the mistake she had made the perplexity of her bewildered brain. With a she tried to clear her understanding by swift movement, for she felt unable to follow any regular train of thought.
 
Nevertheless, Durgo's innocent speech re-awakened her old suspicions, though she to recall them. What if, after all, Cyril had been the visitor of a fortnight since? In that case, since Huxham had been found dead, Cyril must have struck the blow. The horror of the idea, which placed a barrier between them, made her turn cold, and she put it from her. Cyril was the man she loved; the man in whom she had every reason to believe. He had solemnly sworn that he was innocent of her father's blood, and if she entertained a grain of affection for him she was bound to believe his word, even in the face of strong evidence to the contrary. He must be guiltless; he was guiltless, as she assured herself; his looks and words and bearing convinced her of his guiltlessness. In one way or another, the promised explanation would solve the difficult problem. But when would that explanation be made?
 
Then, again, Mrs. Tunks must know somewhat of the truth, since she had so truly the coming of the negro. Bella, lacking the mystical sense, had no belief in visions, and assumed that the old woman, for her own ends, had played a comedy, based upon actual fact. Taking this view, the girl walked towards the hut of the witch-wife, to learn how much Mrs. Tunks knew concerning Cyril's past life. Something she must know, else she could not have hinted at the appearance of the negro. Bella herself was ignorant that her lover had so sinister a servant, but it seemed that Mrs. Tunks was better informed. And since the old hag knew so much, she must know more. A few questions would doubtless bring the information, and then Bella felt that she would know how to act. But the position was extremely difficult, and the skein of life very .
 
Thinking in this way, she reached the end of the corn-field, and was about to turn along the pathway leading to the hut, when she heard her name called anxiously. Looking up, she saw Dora Ankers on the hither side of the boundary channel.
 
"Oh, Bella! I am so glad to see you," sang out the Marshely school-mistress volubly. "I really didn't want to go to the Manor and meet that aunt of yours. Come with me, dear; he is waiting at my cottage."
 
"Who is waiting?" demanded Bella, greatly surprised by this address.
 
"Oh, my dear, as if to a girl in love there is any he but the one he in the world," said Dora, who was and impatient.
 
"Do you mean to say that Mr. Lister——"
 
"Mr. Lister? Oh, you cruel-hearted girl: do you call him that?"
 
"I mean Cyril," said Bella hurriedly; "is he——"
 
"Yes, he is. He won't come to the Manor, and can't very well see you in his own rooms, as that nasty-minded Mrs. Block might say things. She is such a gossip you know. In despair he came to me, poor dear, so I asked him to wait in my while I came for you."
 
Bella drew herself up stiffly. She did not desire to appear too willing to obey the summons of her lover. Womanlike, she wished him to say that he was in the wrong, so that her pride might be saved. "I am going to Mrs. Tunks'."
 
"What for?" asked Dora, bluntly.
 
"Never mind," replied Miss Huxham, to confess that she was with uncanny things beyond the veil. "I must go."
 
Dora tripped lightly across the narrow , and slipped her arm within that of her friend. "You shall do nothing of the sort, you cold thing," she declared. "Poor Mr. Lister is quite broken-hearted by the way in which you have treated him."
 
"Oh!" Bella became stiffer than ever. "Has he said——"
 
"He has said nothing! he is too much a man to say anything. But I saw his poor, pale, peaked face, and——"
 
"Does he look ill?" Bella was seized with a sudden qualm.
 
"Ill?" Miss Ankers' gestures and looks became . "Dear, he is dying."
 
"Oh, Dora!" Miss Huxham kilted up her skirts and fairly ran across the planks. "Why didn't you come for me before?"
 
"You don't seem to be in a hurry to come now," laughed Dora, crossing in her turn; "yet the poor, dear fellow is dying—to see you."
 
"Where has he been all this time?"
 
"I'm sure I don't know, dear. He came straight from London last night, and went to my cottage this morning to see me. I was in church, so he came again in the afternoon, and asked me to help him. Oh, my dear, he is handsome, and I felt that I could do anything for him. I wish he had made love to me," sighed the romantic school-mistress; "but all he did, was to ask me to bring you to my cottage for an interview. So come, dear, come, and save the poor darling from an early grave."
 
Bella needed no urging, for she was genuinely concerned over the news, and sped towards Marshely like a , with Miss Ankers at her heels. Dora had no difficulty in keeping up, as she was a slim, small, dainty woman, more like a fairy than mere flesh and blood. In spite of her age, and she confessed to thirty-five, she had a pink-and-white skin, golden hair, and clear blue eyes. Dressed as she was, in pale blue, with many ribbons and , she looked like a well-arrayed doll, just out of a satin-lined box. But for all her innocent looks, Miss Ankers was a stern school-mistress, and during business hours behaved with great severity. Out of them, however, she presented herself to the village world in her true colours, as a sentimental, airy, sweet-tempered little creature, who was everybody's friend and nobody's enemy. Bella was always fond of her, but at this moment felt more attached to her than ever—as she had every reason to be, seeing that Miss Ankers had given up her sitting-room for a lovers' meeting, and had actually brought that meeting about.
 
"You're my good angel, Dora," said Bella, kissing her friend, as they drew near the cottage, on the of Marshely.
 
"Oh, what waste!" Dora, opening her china-blue eyes to their widest. "What will Mr. Lister say to your throwing away kisses on me?"
 
Bella laughed, for her heart had grown unexpectedly light. She had a firm belief that all misunderstandings were about to be cleared up between her lover and herself. Also she acknowledged to herself, with great and thankful joy, that Cyril, in spite of her , had returned to her. Seeing how she had doubted and accused him, he might have departed for ever, and with every reason for such a course. But apparently he loved her so that he was willing to remain and explain himself. It was no wonder that Bella's heart leaped for joy, since the cloud, which had for so long overshadowed the sunshine of love, was about to be dissipate............