hand, and look me in the face as your equal; I know no difference of
rank at such a time as this. Before God, who hears you, are you innocent
of the theft of the bank-note?"

"Before God, who hears me," Isabel answered, "I am innocent."

Lady Lydiard looked once more at the lawyer, and waited to hear if he
believed _that_.

Mr. Troy took refuge in dumb diplomacy--he made a low bow. It might have
meant that he believed Isabel, or it might have meant that he modestly
withdrew his own opinion into the background. Lady Lydiard did not
condescend to inquire what it meant.

"The sooner we bring this painful scene to an end the better," she said.
"I shall be glad to avail myself of your professional assistance, Mr.
Troy, within certain limits. Outside of my house, I beg that you will
spare no trouble in tracing the lost money to the person who has really
stolen it. Inside of my house, I must positively request that the
disappearance of the note may never be alluded to, in any way whatever,
until your inquiries have been successful in discovering the thief. In
the meanwhile, Mrs. Tollmidge and her family must not be sufferers by
my loss: I shall pay the money again." She paused, and pressed Isabel's
hand with affectionate fervor. "My child," she said, "one last word to
you, and I have done. You remain here, with my trust in you, and my love
for you, absolutely unshaken. When you think of what has been said here
to-day, never forget that."

Isabel bent her head, and kissed the kind hand that still held hers. The
high spirit that was in her, inspired by Lady Lydiard's example, rose