ond what she appeared to be looking at.

"Yes, I have done right," she said to herself. "There must always be an
open door, and this is my open door; and I hope God, and auntie up in
heaven, will forgive me for having told that lie. And I hope God, and
auntie up in heaven, will forgive me if I tell it again; for I mean to
go on telling it, and telling it, and telling it, until I have spent all
that money."

While Betty lay thinking her wild thoughts, Sir John Crawford,
downstairs, made a shrewd and careful examination of the different
articles of furniture which had been left in the little stone house by
his old friend, Miss Frances Vivian. Everything was in perfect order.
She was a lady who abhorred disorder, who could not endure it for a
single moment. All her letters and her neatly receipted bills were tied
up with blue silk, and laid, according to date, one on top of the other.
Her several little trinkets, which eventually would belong to the girls,
were in their places. Her last will and testament was also in the drawer
where she had told Sir John he would find it. Everything was in
order--everything, exactly as the poor lady had left it, with the
exception of the little sealed packet. Where was it? Sir John felt
puzzled and distressed. He had not an idea what it contained; for Miss
Vivian, in her letter to him, had simply asked him to take care of it
for her nieces, and had not made any comment with regard to its
contents. Sir John certainly could not accuse the girls of purloining
it. After some pain and deliberate thought, he decided to go out and
speak to the old servants, who were still up, in the kitchen. They
received him respectfully, and yet with a sort of sour expression which
was natural to their homely Scotch faces.

Donald rose silently, and asked the gentleman if he would seat himself.

"No, Donald," replied Sir John in his hearty, pleasant voice; "I cannot
stay. I am going to bed, being somewhat tired."

"The bit chamber is no' too comfortable for your lordship," said Jean,
dropping a profound curtsey.

"The chamber will do all right. I have slept in it before," said Sir
John.

"Eh, dear, now," said Jean, "and you be easy to please."

"I want you, Jean Macfarlane, to call the young ladies and myself not
later than five o'clock to-morrow morning, and to have breakfast ready
at half-past five; and, Donald, we shall require the dogcart to drive to
the station at six o'clock. Have you given orde