CHAPTER V.

FAITH AND UNFAITH.


"At last we meet!" cried Tom Peters, while his face lit up in joy. "How
_are_ you, dear Miss Newell?" Clara greeted him coldly. Her face had an
abiding pallor now. Her lover's flight and shame had prostrated her for
weeks. Her soul was the arena of contending instincts. Alone of all the
world she still believed in Everard's innocence, felt that there was
something more than met the eye, divined some devilish mystery behind it
all. And yet that damning letter from the anonymous lady shook her
sadly. Then, too, there was the deposition of Polly. When she heard
Peters's voice accosting her all her old repugnance resurged. It flashed
upon her that this man--Roxdal's boon companion--must know far more than
he had told to the police. She remembered how Everard had spoken of him,
with what affection and confidence! Was it likely he was utterly
ignorant of Everard's movements? Mastering her repugnance, she held out
her hand. It might be well to keep in touch with him; he was possibly
the clue to the mystery. She noticed he was dressed a shade more trimly,
and was smoking a meerschaum. He walked along at her side, making no
offer to put his pipe out.

"You have not heard from Everard?" he asked. She flushed. "Do you think
I'm an accessory after the fact?" she cried.

"No, no," he said soothingly. "Pardon me, I was thinking he might have
written--giving no exact address, of course. Men do sometimes dare to
write thus to women. But, of course, he knows you too well--you would
have put the police on his track."