with a sigh of gentle pleasure. Once out of sight he
flew to the library, where he scribbled a couple of telegrams. They were
carefully worded and related to some apocryphal parcel required without
delay, and calculated to convey nothing to the lay mind. A servant was
despatched to the village with them. Henson would have been pleased had
he known that the fascinating little American had waylaid his messenger
and read his telegrams under the plea of verifying one of the addresses.
A moment or two later and those addresses were carefully noted down in a
pocket-book. It was past five before Chris found herself with a little
time on her hands again. Littimer had kept her pretty busy all the
afternoon, partly because there was so much to do, but partly from the
pleasure that he derived from his secretary's society. He was more free
with her than he had been with any of her sex for years. It was
satisfactory, too, to learn that Littimer regarded Henson as a smug and
oily hypocrite, and that the latter was only going to be left Littimer
Castle to spite the owner's other relations.

"Now you run into the garden and get a blow." Littimer said at length. "I
am telling you a lot too much. I am afraid you are a most insinuating
young person."

Chris ran out into the garden gaily. Despite the crushing burden on her
shoulders she felt an elation and a flow of spirits she had not been
conscious of for years. The invigorating air of the place seemed to have
got into her veins, the cruel depression of the House of the Silent
Sorrow was passing away. Again, she had hope and youth on her side, and
everything was falling out beautifully. It was a pleasanter world than
Chris had anticipated.

She went along more quietly after a time. There was a tiny arbour on a
terrace overlooking the sea to which Chris had taken a particular fancy.
She picked her way daintily along the grass paths between the roses until
she suddenly emerged upon the terrace. She had popped out of the roses
swiftly as a squirrel peeps from a tree.

Somebody was in the arbour, two people talking earnestly. One man
stood up with his back to Chris, one hand gripping the outside ragged
bark of the arbour frame with a peculiarly nervous, restless force.
Chris could see the hand turned back distinctly. A piece of bark was
being crumbled under a strong thumb. Such a thumb! Chris had seen
nothing like it before.

It was as if at some time it had been smashed flat with a ha