all the incidents of the preceding
night rushing through her mind, and hurried to her father's room; the
door was open, the room empty, and, with a sudden fear, she ran down
the stairs and found him in his usual seat in the library. She drew a
long breath and went and kissed him, wishing him good-morning as
casually as she could.

"You are up early this morning, father," she said, trying to keep her
tone free from any anxiety.

He glanced at the clock calmly.

"No, you are later," he said.

His eyes met hers with their usual expression of absentminded serenity.

"I--I was a little tired and overslept myself," she said. "Are--are you
quite well this morning, father?"

"Yes, quite well. Why not?" he replied, with slight surprise.

She drew a breath of relief: it was quite evident that he knew nothing
of that weird walk, and that it had not affected him injuriously.

"Nothing," she said, forcing a smile.

As she spoke, Jason, in his in-door livery, which, in some strange way,
looked as if it had shrunken with the figure which had worn, it so
long, came to the door, and in his husky voice said that breakfast was
ready; and Ida, taking her father's arm, led him into the dining-room
in which all their meals were served.

As she went to her place she glanced through the window, from which she
could see the steps at the corner of the terrace and a small part of
the ruined chapel, and she shuddered.

When she had poured out her father's coffee, she took it round to him
and let her hand rest on his shoulder lovingly; but Jason had brought
in the post-bag and Mr. Heron was unlocking it and taking out the few
letters and papers, and seemed unconscious of the little anxious
caress.

"Are there any for me, father?" she asked, lingering beside him, and
she stretched out her hand to turn the envelopes on their right side;
but he stopped her quickly and swept them together, covering them with
his long hand--the shapely Heron hand.

"No, no," he said, almost sharply; "they are all for me; they are
business letters, booksellers' catalogues, sale catalogues--nothing of
importance."

She went back to her place and he waited until she had done so before
he began to open the letters. He merely glanced at some of them, but
presently he came to one which, after a sharp, quick look at her, he
read attentively; then he returned it to its envelope and, with a
secretive movement, slipped it into the pocket of his dressing-gown.