s her father had gone, Ida rose and suggested that if Colonel
Quaritch had done his wine they should go into the drawing-room, which
they accordingly did. This room was much more modern than either the
vestibule or the dining-room, and had an air and flavour of nineteenth
century young lady about it. There were the little tables, the
draperies, the photograph frames, and all the hundred and one knick-
knacks and odds and ends by means of which a lady of taste makes a
chamber lovely in the eyes of brutal man. It was a very pleasant place
to look upon, this drawing-room at Honham Castle, with its irregular
recesses, its somewhat faded colours illuminated by the soft light of
a shaded lamp, and its general air of feminine dominion. Harold
Quaritch was a man who had seen much of the world, but who had not
seen very much of drawing-rooms, or, indeed, of ladies at large. They
had not come in his way, or if they did come in his way he had avoided
them. Therefore, perhaps, he was the more susceptible to such
influences when he was brought within their reach. Or perchance it was
Ida's gracious presence which threw a charm upon the place that added
to its natural attractiveness, as the china bowls of lavender and rose
leaves added perfume to the air. Anyhow, it struck him that he had
rarely before seen a room which conveyed to his mind such strong
suggestions of refinement and gentle rest.

"What a charming room," he said, as he entered it.

"I am glad you think so," answered Ida; "because it is my own
territory, and I arrange it."

"Yes," he said, "it is easy to see that."

"Well, would you like to hear the end of the story about Sir James and
his treasure?"

"Certainly; it interests me very much."

"It positively /fascinates/ me," said Ida with emphasis.

"Listen, and I will tell you. After they had shot old Sir James they
took the Bible off him, but whether or no Colonel Playfair ever sent
it to the son in France, is not clear.

"The story is all known historically, and it is certain that, as my
father said, he asked that his Bible might be sent, but nothing more.
This son, Sir Edward, never lived to return to England. After his
father's murder, the estates were seized by the Parliamentary party,
and the old Castle, with the exception of the gate towers, razed to
the ground, partly for military purposes and partly in the long and
determined attempt that was made to discover old Sir James's treasure,
which might, it w