I derived from a few words which I heard him say to my husband just before he left us."
"Indeed! Can you recall those words?"
"Very nearly. He said he had done his best in the matter, and should not attempt to go further. And then with his cynical air he added, 'Let sleeping dogs lie, Wyllard. That is a good old saying.'"
"Don't you think that sounds rather as if he suspected your kinsman, and feared to bring trouble on your family by any further investigation?"
"It never struck me in that light," exclaimed Dora, with a distressed look. "Good heavens! is all the world so keen to suspect an innocent man? If you only knew Bothwell as I know him, you would be the first to laugh this cruel slander to scorn."
"For your sake I will try and believe in him as firmly as you do," answered Heathcote, "and as Wyllard does, no doubt."
Her countenance fell, and she was silent.
"Your husband knows of this cloud upon your cousin's name, I suppose?" interrogated Heathcote, after a pause.
"Yes, I told him how Bothwell had been treated by his Bodmin acquaintance."
"And he was as indignant as you were, I conclude?"
"He said very little," answered Dora, with a pained expression. "My regard for Bothwell is the only subject upon which Julian and I have ever differed. He has been somewhat harsh in his judgment of my cousin ever since his return from India. He disapproved of his leaving the army, and he has been inclined to take a gloomy view of his prospects from the very first."
"I see. He has not a high opinion of Bothwell's moral character?"
"I would hardly say that. But he is inclined to judge my cousin's errors harshly, and he does not understand his noble qualities as I do. I should not have been constrained to ask for your help, if Julian had been as heartily with me in this matter as he has been, in all other things."
Edward Heathcote's bronzed cheek blanched ever so little at this speech. It moved him deeply to think that in this one anxiety of her loving heart he could be more to Dora Wyllard than her husband, that she could turn to him in this trouble, with boundless confidence in his friendship. What would he not do to merit such confidence, to show himself worthy of such trust? Already he was prepared to be Bothwell's champion; he was angry with himself for ever having suspected him.
"I had another motive for appealing to you," continued Dora shyly. "I have reason to think that Bothwell is very fond of Hilda, and the dearest wish of my life is to see those two united."
"A wish which is in a fair way of being gratified,"
