rstand?"

"Not yet, but I shall. Will you go? They might come-my father might
come-at any moment."

"But---"

"Do you want to drive me quite mad? Please go!" She laid a trembling,
urgent hand upon his sleeve.

"Never, until you tell me that you understand," replied Crailey firmly,
listening keenly for the slightest sound from overhead. "Never--until
then!"

"When I do I shall tell you; now I only know that you must go."

"But tell me--"

"You must go!"

There was a shuffling of chairs on the floor overhead, and Crailey
went. He went even more hastily than might have been expected from the
adaman-tine attitude he had just previously assumed. Realizing this as
he reached the wet path, he risked stealing round to her window:

"For your sake!" he breathed; and having thus forestalled any trifling
imperfection which might arise in her recollection of his exit from the
house, he disappeared, kissing his hand to the rain as he ran down the
street.

Miss Betty locked her door and pulled close the curtains of her window.
A numerous but careful sound of footsteps came from the hall, went by
her door and out across the veranda. Silently she waited until she heard
her father go alone to his room.

She took the candle and went in to Mrs. Tanberry. She set the light upon
a table, pulled a chair close to the bedside, and placed her cool hand
lightly on the great lady's forehead.

"Isn't it very late, child? Why are you not asleep?"

"Mrs. Tanberry, I want to know why there was a light in the cupola-room
tonight?"

"What?" Mrs. Tanberry rolled herself as upright as possible, and sat
with blinking eyes.

"I want to know what I am sure you know, and what I am sure everybody
knows, except me. What were they doing there tonight, and what was
the quarrel between Mr. Vanrevel and my father that had to do with Mr.
Gray?"

Mrs. Tanberry gazed earnestly into the girl's face. After a long time
she said in a gentle voice:

"Child, has it come to matter that much?"

"Yes," said Miss Betty.

CHAPTER XIII. The Tocsin

Tom Vanrevel always went to the post-office soon after the morning
distribution of the mail; that is to say, about ten o'clock, and
returned with the letters for the firm of Gray and Vanrevel, both
personal and official. Crailey and he shared everything, even a box at
the post-office; and in front of this box, one morning, after a night of
rain, Tom stood staring at a white envelope bearing a small, bla