bunch of keys to Bridget the key
of the alcove was missing.

"I shall require it again in the morning, Bridget," she explained
lightly. And then added kindly, as it seemed: "Don't wait for me, child.
Get to bed. I shall be late in coming home, and I shall not want you."

CHAPTER VI. MISS ARMYTAGE'S PEARLS

Lady O'Moy and Miss Armytage drove alone together into Lisbon. The
adjutant, still occupied, would follow as soon as he possibly could,
whilst Captain Tremayne would go on directly from the lodgings which
he shared in Alcantara with Major Carruthers--also of the adjutant's
staff--whither he had ridden to dress some twenty minutes earlier.

"Are you ill, Una?" had been Sylvia's concerned greeting of her cousin
when she came within the range of the carriage lamps. "You are pale as
a ghost." To this her ladyship had replied mechanically that a slight
headache troubled her.

But now that they sat side by side in the well upholstered carriage Miss
Armytage became aware hat her companion was trembling.

"Una, dear, whatever is the matter?"

Had it not been for the dominant fear that the shedding of tears would
render her countenance unsightly, Lady O'Moy would have yielded to her
feelings and wept. Heroically in the cause of her own flawless beauty
she conquered the almost overmastering inclination.

"I--I have been so troubled about Richard," she faltered. "It is preying
upon my mind."

"Poor dear!" In sheer motherliness Miss Armytage put an arm about her
cousin and drew her close. "We must hope for the best."

Now if you have understood anything of the character of Lady O'Moy you
will have understood that the burden of a secret was the last burden
that such a nature was capable of carrying. It was because Dick was
fully aware of this that he had so emphatically and repeatedly impressed
upon her the necessity for saying not a word to any one of his presence.
She realised in her vague way--or rather she believed it since he
had assured her--that there would be grave danger to him if he were
discovered. But discovery was one thing, and the sharing of a confidence
as to his presence another. That confidence must certainly be shared.

Lady O'Moy was in an emotional maelstrom that swept her towards a
cataract. The cataract might inspire her with dread, standing as it did
for death and disaster, but the maelstrom was not to be resisted. She
was helpless in it, unequal to breasting such strong waters, she who