dow as the carriage drove off. 'She
won't tell _this_ time,' he said to himself.

And indeed poor Dolly was silent enough all the way home, and met
Fraeulein Moser's placid stream of talk with short and absent answers.
That evening, however, in the schoolroom, she roused herself to
express a sudden interest in Colin's stamp album, which she coaxed him
to show her.

As he was turning over the pages, one by one, she stopped him
suddenly. 'What is that one?' she said, pointing out a green-coloured
stamp amongst the colonial varieties.

'Can't you read?' said Colin, a little contemptuously, even while
regarding this healthy interest as a decided sign of grace in a girl:
'there's "Ceylon Postage" on the top, isn't there? It isn't rare,
though--twenty-four cents--I gave twopence for it; but I've had much
more expensive ones, only I swopped them. If you _want_ to see a rare
one, here's a Virgin Islands down here----'

'I think I'll see the rest another time, Colin, thanks,' said Dolly;
'I'm tired now.'

'I mayn't have time to show you another day,' said Colin, 'so you'd
better----' But Dolly had gone--her passion for information having
flickered out as suddenly as it rose. She knew that English-looking
green stamp well enough; there had been dreadful days once when it had
seemed always floating before her eyes, the thing which might send her
to prison; she was much older now, of course, and knew better; but,
for all that, it had not quite lost its power to plague her yet.

For, this time at least, she was sure that Harold had not been
teasing; she _had_ burnt the letter, and it came from Ceylon; Vincent
must have written it, and he had come back and meant to scold her--she
had cried so when she heard he was drowned, and now she was afraid to
see him--a shadow she dared not speak of had once more fallen across
her life!

Caffyn came up with a Bradshaw in his hand. 'Had a hunt after it, I
can tell you,' he said; 'and then your old landlady and I had a little
chat--I couldn't get away from her. Aren't you fellows ready for some
dinner?' And the relief with which Mark had seen the carriage roll
away below had really given him something of an appetite.

Before dinner, however, Mark took Caffyn up into his bedroom under the
pretence of washing his hands, but with the real object of preventing
a hideous possibility which--for his fears quickened his
foresight--had just occurred to him. 'If you don't mind,' he began
awkward