She felt an evasion in his reply.

Then a suspicion of the truth flashed upon her mind, overwhelming her with a flood of bitterness in which shame, self-reproach, sorrow and distress were mingled.

It was from her hand, so to speak, that the son of her friend had taken the wine which had bewildered his senses, and from her house that he had gone forth with unsteady step and confused brain to face a storm the heaviest and wildest that had been known for years.

If he were dead, would not the stain of his blood be on her garments?
No marvel that Mr.Voss had said, "Not yet; it might disturb her too much." Disturb the friend with whose heart her own had beaten in closest sympathy and tenderest love for years--the friend who had flown to her in the deepest sorrow she had ever known and held her to her heart until she was comforted by the sweet influences of love.

Oh, this was hard to bear! She bowed her head and stood silent.
"I wish," said Mr.Voss, speaking to Mr.Birtwell, "to get the names of a few of the guests who were here last night.