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"Go and dance, my dear," he says, quickly, in a tone that decides her. It is to please him, for his sake, she must do this thing; and so, without any awkward hesitation, yet without undue haste, she turns and lays her hand on the Australian's arm. A few minutes later she is floating round the room in his arms, and, passing by Geoffrey, though she sees him not, is seen by him. "I suppose so," says Mona lifting her brows. "I hardly think I follow you," says Geoffrey, in a frozen tone. "In regard to what would you wish your servants deceived?".

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"Give it to me!" cries she, impulsively, her voice, trembling. "It is the missing will. You found it last night. It belongs to Nicholas. You must—nay," softly, beseechingly, "you will give it to me." "I'll tell you all something," he says, "though I hardly think I ought, if you will swear not to betray me." It is the morning after Lady Chetwoode's ball. Every one has got down to breakfast. Every one is in excellent spirits, in spite of the fact that the rain is racing down the window-panes in torrents, and that the post is late. "Come home," says Mona, faintly. Now the actual danger is past, terror creeps over her, rendering her a prey to imaginary sights and sounds. "There may be others. Do not delay.".