If she had obeyed her own desires she would have remained in her room. However, the Duchess's command had been explicit, and besides, not to put too fine a face upon it, she was hungry.

Dinner could not be called a success. The doctor spoke but little; Carlton made inane comments at random, and several times Marianne caught him staring wildly at her, as if she had changed into a person he had never seen before. Not feeling in spirits enough for the finish of Wuthering Heights (she had peeked at the ending and read just enough to curdle her blood), she went to the library to find another book. Rejecting any work of fiction that smacked even slightly of the sensational, she selected a volume of

Carlyle's essays and went dispiritedly up to her room.

The volume did what she hoped it would do; it put her to sleep, in spite of a rising wind that made uncanny sounds behind the drawn draperies. And if a hand opened her door and a shadowed face looked in, Marianne was unaware of it.

The wind that had howled so drearily had not been an evil portent but the reverse. Not only did Marianne sleep through the night, but she awoke to find her room bright with sunlight. The lift to her spirits was tremendous. She dressed as quickly as she could and without waiting for breakfast put on her coat and ran outside.

The air was cold, and frost whitened the grass. Puddles of water had fringes of ice. It would have taken more than cold to discourage Marianne; she felt like an animal freed from a narrow cage. Swinging her arms and striding briskly, she set off down the driveway. As soon as she was out of sight of the house she broke into an undignified run, for the sheer joy of it. The distance from the front steps to the iron gates was a good mile.

Still exhilarated, she turned onto the footpath and walked toward the village.

The smoke of the cooking fires rose up into a cloudless sky. There were few people abroad; early as it was for the pampered upper classes, most of the villagers had been up for hours and had gone to their work. Marianne saw only a few housewives, baskets on their arms, on their way to market, and one gentleman enjoying his morning constitutional.

She had intended to go as far as the church – for no particular reason, just to have a goal in mind – but the sight of the stroller ahead of her made her self-conscious. She turned and started back.

Before long she heard rapid footsteps approaching; then around a curve in the drive came Carlton, trotting along like a man who is late for an urgent appointment. He was hatless; his dark hair blew in the wind. Marianne was about to hail him with a joking reference to his passion for early-morning exercise when he caught sight of her and came to an abrupt halt. A formidable scowl darkened his face. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Walking. The sun was so welcome I could not wait to enjoy it."

"You have no business rushing out like that. If one of the footmen had not seen you I would have had no idea where you were."

"Why should you concern yourself about my whereabouts?" Marianne demanded. "Ah, I know; you thought I had run off with the Duchess's jewels. You suspect me of every mean and contemptible act; why not that?"

As her anger grew, Carlton became cooler. He smiled in a superior way and replied, "Oddly enough – that had not occurred to me. I hope you have no such scheme in mind; I am far too busy to be forever searching your room."

"I don't see you actively engaged in anything," Marianne retorted. "In fact, I wonder that a busy lawyer like yourself can spare so much time for one client. Shouldn't you be in your office?"

"As a matter of fact, I am leaving almost at once."

"Oh," Marianne said flatly.

"But I shall return."

"When?"

"Ah, you do care!" Carlton exclaimed, clasping his hands in mock rapture. "I don't know when, Miss Ransom. Hopefully in two or three days. Now I want you to promise me something before I go."

"What?"

"You are monosyllabic today – and wary, too. Couldn't you have said, 'Anything,' instead of pronouncing that flat, skeptical 'what?' I merely want your word that you will not leave the house until I return."

"Impossible! I will lose my mind cooped up any longer. Surely a ride, with one of the grooms -"

"No. Not even a walk in the garden. I have postponed discussing this matter with you because… Well, for a variety of reasons which need not concern you. But now I must speak out. There is a stranger staying at the Devenbrook Arms."

"The man I saw this morning?"

"Ah, you saw him. Then it was not Bagshot?"

Marianne gasped. Strolling side by side, they had reached the castle; in her agitation she turned away from it and began pacing back and forth.

"I… I cannot say for certain. I saw the man at a distance; his back was to me and he wore a broad-brimmed hat and a long cloak."

"I have not been able to get a look at him," Carlton said. "He keeps very much to himself. But even if I had seen him I might not know him; there are such things as disguises. I do not really believe this man is Bagshot.

He probably is not. But I learned a few days ago, from my informants in London, that Bagshot is not to be seen in his usual haunts, and that he is rumored to have left the city."

"Days ago! Why didn't you tell me?"

Carlton shrugged. "You would not believe my reasons," he said enigmatically. "I am telling you now only because I am going away and you will have to watch out for yourself."

"But it is so vague," Marianne said obstinately. "I cannot imagine that he would have the audacity to come here, even in disguise. You are starting at shadows, Mr. Carlton… and the sun is shining."

"If you take that attitude I will be forced to tell you another fact I had meant to keep from you, because of its distressing nature. I have found Maggie."

Marianne clapped her hands with joy. "You have found her! Oh, how cruel of you not to…" Carlton's grim look gave her a hint of the truth. She caught her breath. "She is dead. Oh, good heavens, is that it?"

"Not dead, no; but she was badly beaten and left for dead. Precisely when the attack happened is uncertain; but she finally managed to reach the man she had mentioned to you, old Harry. A scavenger and ragpicker by trade. He took her in and did his best for her, but when my people found her she was delirious and sinking fast. She is now receiving the finest care," he added quickly, seeing Marianne's stricken face. "Her prospects are good, Marianne, indeed they are. Such women are tough. They must be, to survive the lives they are forced to lead."

Marianne covered her face with her hands. "I cannot bear it," she sobbed. "It was on my account, I know it was; it is all my fault."

Carlton took a quick, impulsive step toward her, his hands extended; but caught himself before he actually touched her. When Marianne took her hands from her face he was standing several feet away, his pocket handkerchief held out. She took it, sniffling, and Carlton said composedly, "You are leaping to unwarranted conclusions. We do not know that it was Bagshot who instigated the attack; in that section of London there are men who would murder for a few coins. I assure you, Maggie is in good hands. You had better think of yourself. Will you give me that promise now?"

Marianne nodded submissively. She mopped her wet forehead with the handkerchief.

"Good. Let us go in now. I will return as soon as I possibly can. Take sensible precautions, but don't let your fears get the better of you."

Marianne might not have been able to follow this excellent advice; but the rest of the day was so busy, it left her little time for moping. In spite of the remonstrances of Dr. Gruffstone, the Duchess decided she had been in bed long enough. Marianne found her up and dressed and declaring her intention of returning to her duties.