hat lady,' said Tarrant, smiling. 'The
mystery, it seems to me, is by no means solved. You think she really
_is_ your aunt?'

'Impossible to doubt it. Any one could see her likeness to Horace at
once.'

'Ah, you didn't mention that. I had a fear that she might be simply an
adventuress, with an eye to your brother's money.'

'She is what she says, I'm sure. But I shall never ask her to come and
see me again, and I don't think she'll want to. That would be fortunate
if--if we wished--'

Tarrant nodded. At the same moment they heard a sound that startled
them.

'That's a knock at the door,' said Nancy, rising as if to escape.

'So it is. Banging with a stick. Let him bang. It must be a stranger, or
he'd respect the oak.'

They sat listening. The knock sounded again, loud and prolonged. Tarrant
joked about it; but a third time came the summons.

'I may as well go and see who it is.'

'Oh--you won't let any one--'

'Of course not. Sit quietly.'

He went out, closing the room-door behind him, and opened the heavy door
which should have ensured his privacy. For five minutes he was absent,
then returned with a face portending news.

'It was Vawdrey. He knew my habit of sporting the oak, and wouldn't go
away till he had made sure. My grandmother is dying. They telegraphed
to Vawdrey in the City, and he came here at once to tell me. I must go.
Perhaps I shall be too late.'

'What did he think of your keeping him outside?'

'I made some sort of excuse. He's a good-natured fellow; it didn't
matter. Stay a little after I'm gone; stay as long as you like, In fact.
You can pull to the inner door when you go.'

'What did the telegram say?'

'Mrs. Tarrant sinking. Come immediately.' Of course we expected it. It's
raining hard: wait and see if it stops; you must take care of yourself.'

For this, Nancy was not slow in exhibiting her gratitude, which served
as mask of the pleasure she could not decently betray. When her husband
had hastened off, she sat for a few minutes in thought; then, alone
here for the first time, she began to walk about the rooms, and to make
herself more intimately acquainted with their contents.

CHAPTER 7

Whilst she was thus occupied, darkness came on. She did not care to
light the lamp, so made herself ready, and stole forth.

The rain had ceased. Walking alone at night was a pleasure in which
she now indulged herself pretty frequently; at such times Mary Woodruff
believed her