Sir  Harry.  Don't !  She  wns  a  cliikl — slie  didn't  un-
derstand, (he  starts  from  his  chair  and  icalks  raindly  to
and  fro,  thinking.  Then  sialdody  lie  breaks  out  fiercely
again)  I  won't  believe  it — it's  humanly  impossible — all
her  life  witli  me  can't  liave  been  a  piece  of  acting — it  can't
have  been  a  lie.  She  couldn't  have  kept  it  up,  day  and
jiight,  night  and  day,  for  seven  months,  (he  stops,  listen-
ing intently,  hearing  her  footfall.  Thenhe  turns  almost
})iti fully  to  his  uncle,  and  n-his2-)ers)     She's  coming — watch


THE  WILDERNESS.  GI

her — watch  her — it  can't  be  all  a  lie.  (^Iaeel  enters  quictJ;/,
humming  softly  to  herself.  The  tiro  men,  appeal'  absorbed,
but  are  in  reality  ivatchiiig  her.  HJie  is  looking  about  her
furtively  for  the  letter.  She  sees  it  and  jncks  it  up.  Sir
PIauky,  not  looking  vji,  sjjcaks  unconcernedly)  Wliafs
that?

Mabel,  Nothing  of  importance — an  old  letter,  {there's
a  2)ause)     I — am  I  in  the  way  ?

Sir  Harry.  No.  (another  pause.  Something  in  his
face  disturbs  her,  and  she  moves  towards  him)

Mabel.  Harry  dear — you're  looking  so  tired.  Uncle  Jo.
don't  make  him  work  any  more  to-nigiit.  (softly)  I'll
come  back  again  when  he  has  gone,     (and  she  goes  out)

Sir  Harry,  (verij  slou-ly)  Poor  little  girl!  poor  little
girl!  Did  you  see?  did  you  see?  You  heard  what  she
said  about  the  letter,  and  how  she  said  it.  If  we  hadn't
known — we  should  never  have  suspected  anything.  Lies
— lies — lies — and  I'ju  the  cause  of  them.  I  have  made
truth  impossible.
Uncle  .Jo.     I  don't  see  that  she's  to  be  pitied.
