t appeared.
The French teacher had heard the voice of the harp.

"Oh, poor little thing," murmured Mrs. Tellingham. "This seems like
spying and eavesdropping, Ruth Fielding; but I mean to stop this thing
right here and now. She shall not be frightened out of her wits by
this villain."

They heard no further sound from the harp at the fountain. But the
door of the West Dormitory opened and the little figure of Miss Picolet
appeared, wrapped in some long, loose garment, and she sped down toward
the fountain. Soon she was out of sight behind the marble statue.

"Come!" breathed the Preceptress.

They heard Miss Picolet and the man chattering in their own
language--the man threatening, the woman pleading--when the trio got to
the fountain. Ruth was a poor French scholar, but of course Mrs.
Tellingham understood what they said. And the Preceptress glided
around the fountain and confronted the harpist with a suddenness that
quite startled him.

"You, sir!" exclaimed the lady, coldly. "I have heard enough of this.
Don't be frightened, Miss Picolet. I only blame you for not coming to
me. I have long known your circumstances, and the fact that you are
poor, and that you have an imbecile sister to support, and that this
man is your disreputable half-brother. And that he threatens to hang
about here and make you lose your position unless you pay him to be
good, is well known to me, too.

"We will have no more of this fellow's threats," continued Mrs.
Tellingham, sternly. "You will give him none of your hard-earned
money, Miss Picolet. Tony, here, shall see him off the grounds, and if
he ever appears here again, or troubles you, let me know and I shall
send him to jail for trespass. Now, remember--you Jean Picolet! I
have your record and the police at Lumberton shall have it, too, if you
ever trouble your sister again."

"Ah-ha!" snarled the big man, looking evilly at Ruth. "So the little
Mademoiselle betrayed me; did she?"

"She has had nothing to do with it--save to have had the misfortune of
losing the letter you gave her to deliver to Miss Picolet," Mrs.
Tellingham said, briefly. "I had her here to identify you, had Miss
Picolet not come out to meet you. Now, Tony!"

And big as the harpist was, and little as the old Irishman seemed,
there was that in Tony Foyle's eye that made the man pick up his harp
in a hurry and make his way from the campus.

"Child! go in to bed," said Mrs. Tellingham. "Not a