Eleanor took the article and turned it over. But some inward voice told her
that her _role_, of counsellor and critic was--again--played out. Suddenly
Father Benecke said:

'I have submitted my reply to Mr. Manisty. I would like to show you what he
says.'

Eleanor fell back in her chair. 'You know where he is?' she cried.

Her surprise was so great that she could not at once disguise her emotion.
Father Benecke was also taken aback. He lifted his eyes from the papers he
held.

'I wrote to him through his bankers the other day, Madame. I have always
found that letters so addressed to him are forwarded.'

Then he stopped in distress and perturbation. Mrs. Burgoyne was still
apparently struggling for breath and composure. His absent, seer's eyes at
last took note of her as a human being. He understood, all at once, that
he had before him a woman very ill, apparently very unhappy, and that what
he had just said had thrown her into an anguish with which her physical
weakness was hardly able to cope.

The colour rose in his own cheeks.

'Madame! let me hasten to say that I have done your bidding precisely.
You were so good as to tell me that you wished no information to be given
to anyone as to your stay here. I have not breathed a word of it to Mr.
Manisty or to any other of my correspondents. Let me show you his letter.'