her arm around Rosalie and kissed her.

"Nigel has suddenly gone away, I hear," she said. "Do you know where he
has gone?"

"He came to my dressing-room to tell me." Betty felt the whole slim body
stiffen itself with a determination to seem calm. "He said he was going
to find out where the old Duke of Broadmorlands was staying at present."

"There is some forethought in that," was Betty's answer. "He is not on
such terms with the Duke that he can expect to be received as a casual
visitor. It will require apt contrivance to arrange an interview. I
wonder if he will be able to accomplish it?"

"Yes, he will," said Lady Anstruthers. "I think he can always contrive
things like that." She hesitated a moment, and then added: "He said also
that he wished to find out certain things about Mr. Ffolliott--'trifling
data,' he called it--that he might be able to lay his hands on things if
father came. He told me to explain to you."

"That was intended for a taunt--but it's a warning," Betty said,
thinking the thing over. "We are rather like ladies left alone to
defend a besieged castle. He wished us to feel that." She tightened her
enclosing arm. "But we stand together--together. We shall not fail each
other. We can face siege until father comes."

"You wrote to him last night?"

"A long letter, which I wish him to receive before he sails. He might
decide to act upon it before leaving New York, to advise with some legal
authority he knows and trusts, to prepare our mother in some way--to do
some wise thing we cannot foresee the value of. He has known the outline
of the story, but not exact details--particularly recent ones. I have
held back nothing it was necessary he should know. I am going out to
post the letter myself. I shall send a cable asking him to prepare to
come to us after he has reflected on what I have written."

Rosalie was very quiet, but when, having left the room to prepare to go
to the village, Betty came back to say a last word, her sister came to
her and laid her hand on her arm.

"I have been so weak and trodden upon for years that it would not be
natural for you to quite trust me," she said. "But I won't fail you,
Betty--I won't."

The winter was drawing in, the last autumn days were short and often
grey and dreary; the wind had swept the leaves from the trees and
scattered them over park lands and lanes, where they lay a mellow-hued,
rustling carpet, shifting with each chill breeze that blew. The be