.'

'I'm a bad correspondent.--Is he also in Devonshire?'

'No. In London.'

'What a storm we are going to have!' exclaimed Sylvia, looking to the
window. 'They predicted it yesterday. I should like to be on the top of
Westdown Beacon--wouldn't you, Miss Moxey?'

'I am quite willing to go with you.'

'And what pleasure do you look for up there?' asked Warricombe, in a
blunt, matter-of-fact tone.

'Now, there's a question!' cried Sylvia, appealing to the rest of the
company.

'I agree with Mr. Warricombe,' remarked her mother. 'It's better to be
in a comfortable room.'

'Oh, you Radicals! What a world you will make of it in time!'

Sylvia affected to turn away in disgust, and happening to glance
through the window she saw two young ladies approaching from the road.

'The Walworths--struggling desperately with their umbrellas.'

'I shouldn't wonder if you think it unworthy of an artist to carry an
umbrella,' said Buckland.

'Now you suggest it, I certainly do. They should get nobly drenched.'

She went out into the hall, and soon returned with her friends--Miss
Walworth the artist, Miss Muriel Walworth, and a youth, their brother.
In the course of conversation Peak learnt that Miss Moxey was the guest
of this family, and that she had been at Budleigh Salterton with them
only a day or two. For the time he listened and observed, endeavouring
to postpone consideration of the dangers into which he had suddenly
fallen. Marcella had made herself his accomplice, thus far, in
disguising the real significance of their meeting, and whether she
would betray him in her subsequent talk with the Moorhouses remained a
matter of doubt. Of course he must have assurance of her
disposition--but the issues involved were too desperate for instant
scrutiny. He felt the gambler's excitement, an irrational pleasure in
the consciousness that his whole future was at stake. Buckland
Warricombe had a keen eye upon him, and doubtless was eager to strike a
train of suspicious circumstances. His face, at all events, should give
no sign of discomposure. Indeed, he found so much enjoyment in the
bright gossip of this assembly of ladies that the smile he wore was
perfectly natural.

The Walworths, he gathered, were to return to London in a week's time.
This meant, in all probability, that Marcella's stay here would not be
prolonged beyond that date. Perhaps he could find an opportunity of
seeing her apart from her friends. In reply to a