not, dearie. But ye can't stay here. I don't want ye to. I
don't want ye to."

"But if you're afraid of something----"

"Who said I was afraid?" she asked, glaring at Peter defiantly. "I'm
not. I just had a spell--all this excitement an' extra work--an'
everything."

She lied. Peter knew it, but he saw no object to be gained in keeping
Beth in Black Rock House, so he went out cautiously and brought the
chauffeur, to whom he entrusted the safety of the girl. He would have
felt more comfortable if he could have escorted her himself, but he knew
that his duty was at the house and that whoever the mysterious person
was it was not Beth that he wanted.

But what was Mrs. Bergen's reason for wishing to get rid of her?

As Beth went out of the door he whispered in her ear, "Say nothing of
this--to any one."

She nodded gravely and followed the man who had preceded her.

When the door closed behind Beth and the chauffeur, Peter turned quickly
and faced the housekeeper.

"Now," he said severely, "tell me the truth."

She stared at him with a falling jaw in a moment of alarm--then closed
her lips firmly. And, as she refused to reply,

"Do you want me to tell Mr. McGuire that you were talking to a stranger
at the kitchen door?"

She trembled and sinking in a chair buried her face in her hands.

"I don't want to be unkind, Mrs. Bergen, but there's something here that
needs explaining. Who was the man you talked to outside the door?"

"I--I can't tell ye," she muttered.

"You must. It's better. I'm your friend and Beth's----"

The woman raised her haggard face to his.

"Beth's friend! Are ye? Then ask me no more."

"But I've got to know. I'm here to protect Mr. McGuire, but I'd like to
protect you too. Who is this stranger?"

The woman lowered her head and then shook it violently. "No, no. I'll
not tell."

He frowned down at her head.

"Did you know that to-night McGuire saw the stranger--the man that _you_
saw--and that he's even more frightened than you?"

The woman raised her head, gazed at him helplessly, then lowered it
again, but she did not speak. The kitchen was silent, but an obbligato
to this drama, like the bray of the ass in the overture to "Midsummer
Night's Dream," came from the drawing-room, where Freddy Mordaunt was
now singing a sentimental ballad.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Bergen, but if Mr. McGuire is in danger to-night, I've
got to know it."

"To-night!" she gasped, as though clutching at a s