e was to go back immediately, and meet her
sister at the door by the yew, as Ethelberta had charged her.
Christopher, knowing them so well, was too much an interested member of
the group to be left out of confidence, and she included him in her
audience.

'And what are you to do?' said Sol to her.

'I am to wait at Corvsgate till you come to me.'

'I can't understand it,' Sol muttered, with a gloomy face. 'There's
something wrong; and it was only to be expected; that's what I say, Mr.
Julian.'

'If necessary I can take care of Miss Chickerel till you come,' said
Christopher.

'Thank you,' said Sol. 'Then I will return to you as soon as I can, at
the "Castle" Inn, just ahead. 'Tis very awkward for you to be so
burdened by us, Mr. Julian; but we are in a trouble that I don't yet see
the bottom of.'

'I know,' said Christopher kindly. 'We will wait for you.'

He then drove on with Picotee to the inn, which was not far off, and Sol
returned again to Enckworth. Feeling somewhat like a thief in the night,
he zigzagged through the park, behind belts and knots of trees, until he
saw the yew, dark and clear, as if drawn in ink upon the fair face of the
mansion. The way up to it was in a little cutting between shrubs, the
door being a private entrance, sunk below the surface of the lawn, and
invisible from other parts of the same front. As soon as he reached it,
Ethelberta opened it at once, as if she had listened for his footsteps.

She took him along a passage in the basement, up a flight of steps, and
into a huge, solitary, chill apartment. It was the ball-room. Spacious
mirrors in gilt frames formed panels in the lower part of the walls, the
remainder being toned in sage-green. In a recess between each mirror was
a statue. The ceiling rose in a segmental curve, and bore sprawling upon
its face gilt figures of wanton goddesses, cupids, satyrs with
tambourines, drums, and trumpets, the whole ceiling seeming alive with
them. But the room was very gloomy now, there being little light
admitted from without, and the reflections from the mirrors gave a
depressing coldness to the scene. It was a place intended to look joyous
by night, and whatever it chose to look by day.

'We are safe here,' said she. 'But we must listen for footsteps. I have
only five minutes: Lord Mountclere is waiting for me. I mean to leave
this place, come what may.'

'Why?' said Sol, in astonishment.

'I cannot tell you--something