dear, for a disappointment. I am alone."

"You don't mean that you have let her go?"

"My poor child! I have never seen her at all."

Blanche pushed by him, and ran into the summer-house. Sir Patrick
followed her. She came out again to meet him, with a look of blank
despair. "Oh, uncle! I did so truly pity her! And see how little pity
she has for _me!_"

Sir Patrick put his arm round his niece, and softly patted the fair
young head that dropped on his shoulder.

"Don't let us judge her harshly, my dear: we don't know what serious
necessity may not plead her excuse. It is plain that she can trust
nobody--and that she only consented to see me to get you out of the room
and spare you the pain of parting. Compose yourself, Blanche. I don't
despair of discovering where she has gone, if you will help me."

Blanche lifted her head, and dried her tears bravely.

"My father himself wasn't kinder to me than you are," she said. "Only
tell me, uncle, what I can do!"

"I want to hear exactly what happened in the library," said Sir Patrick.
"Forget nothing, my dear child, no matter how trifling it may be.
Trifles are precious to us, and minutes are precious to us, now."

Blanche followed her instructions to the letter, her uncle listening