usic-room,
and directly the stable clock struck that I was to open the window, and
some one would be there on the terrace and take the packet. I did
exactly as he told me, and there was someone there; but I had just held
out the packet when a third person snatches it away, and held my hand
close to his eyes as though to try and guess who I was. I managed to
get it away and close the window, but I think that the wrong person must
have taken the packet. I told my father to-day, and--you know that
terribly still look of his. I thought that he was never going to speak
again. When I asked him if there was a good deal of money in it--he
only groaned."

Up on the top of the stairs I was shaking with excitement. I heard Lord
Cheisford speak, and his voice was hoarse.

"Since then," he asked, "what?"

"A man came to see father. He drove from Wells. He looked like a
Frenchman, but he gave no name. He was in the library for an hour.
When he left he walked straight out of the house and drove away again.
I went into the library, and--you know how strong father is--he was
crouching forward across the table, muttering to himself. It was like
some sort of a fit. He did not know me when I spoke to him. Lord
Chelsford, what does it all mean?"

"Go on!" he answered. "Tell me the rest."

"There is nothing else," she faltered. "He got better presently, and he
kissed me. I have never known him to do such a thing before, except at
morning or night. And then he locked himself in the study and wrote.
About an hour afterwards I heard him--asking everywhere for you. The
servants thought that you had come here. I saw him crossing the park,
so I followed."

Lord Chelsford came to the bottom of the stairs and called me by name.
I heard Lady Angela's little cry of surprise. I was downstairs in a
moment, and she came straight into my arms. Her dear tear-stained
little face buried itself upon my shoulder.

"I am so thankful, so thankful that you are here," she murmured.

And all the while, with the face of a man forced into the presence of
tragedy, Lord Chelsford was reading that letter. When he had finished
his hands were shaking and his face was grey. He moved over to the
fireplace, and, without a moment's hesitation, he thrust the letter into
the flames. Not content with that, he stood over it, poker in hand, and
beat the ashes into powder. Then he turned to the door.

"Take care of Angela, Ducaine," he exclaimed, and hurried out.

But