e wished to buy
it, but I was anxious to get it back again, so that I might return it to
my mother. Therefore I thought your father might lend me money on it."

Sylvia examined the brooch with great attention. It was evidently of
Indian workmanship, delicately chased, and thickly set with jewels. The
serpent, which was apparently wriggling across the stout gold pin of the
brooch, had its broad back studded with opals, large in the centre of
the body and small at head and tail. These were set round with tiny
diamonds, and the head was of chased gold with a ruby tongue. Sylvia
admired the workmanship and the jewels, and turned the brooch over. On
the flat smooth gold underneath she found the initial "R" scratched with
a pin. This she showed to Paul. "I expect your mother made this mark to
identify the brooch," she said.

"My mother's name is Anne," replied Paul, looking more puzzled than
ever, "Anne Beecot. Why should she mark this with an initial which has
nothing to do with her name?"

"Perhaps it is a present," suggested Sylvia.

Paul snapped the case to, and replaced it in his pocket. "Perhaps it
is," he said. "However, when I next write to my mother I'll ask her
where she got the brooch. She has had it for many years," he added
musingly, "for I remember playing with it when a small boy."

"Don't tell your mother that my father fainted."

"Why not? Does it matter?"

Sylvia folded her slender hands and looked straight in front of her.
For some time they had been seated on a bench in a retired part of the
gardens, and the laughter of playing children, the music of the band
playing the merriest airs from the last musical comedy, came faintly to
their ears. "I think it does matter," said the girl, seriously; "for
some reason my father wants to keep himself as quiet as possible. He
talks of going away."

"Going away. Oh, Sylvia, and you never told me."

"He only spoke of going away when I came to see how he was this
morning," she replied. "I wonder if his fainting has anything to do with
this determination. He never talked of going away before."

Paul wondered also. It seemed strange that after so unusual an event the
old man should turn restless and wish to leave a place where he had
lived for over twenty years. "I'll come and have an explanation," said
Paul, after a pause.

"I think that will be best, dear. Father said that he would like to see
you again, and told Bart to bring you in if he saw you."

"I'l