"Yes, he knows, and so does my mother," she answered, "but they have
always kept it secret from me. My poor father is very excited at
present. Day and night he is in an agony of apprehension, but it will
soon be the fifth of October, and after that he will be at peace."

"How do you know that?" I asked in surprise.

"By experience," she answered gravely. "On the fifth of October these
fears of his come to a crisis. For years back he has been in the habit
of locking Mordaunt and myself up in our rooms on that date, so that we
have no idea what occurs, but we have always found that he has been
much relieved afterwards, and has continued to be comparatively in peace
until that day begins to draw round again."

"Then you have only ten days or so to wait," I remarked, for September
was drawing to a close. "By the way, dearest, why is it that you light
up all your rooms at night?"

"You have noticed it, then?" she said. "It comes also from my father's
fears. He does not like to have one dark corner in the whole house.
He walks about a good deal at night, and inspects everything, from the
attics right down to the cellars. He has large lamps in every room and
corridor, even the empty ones, and he orders the servants to light them
all at dusk."

"I am rather surprised that you manage to keep your servants," I said,
laughing. "The maids in these parts are a superstitious class, and
their imaginations are easily excited by anything which they don't
understand."

"The cook and both housemaids are from London, and are used to our ways.
We pay them on a very high scale to make up for any inconvenience to
which they may be put. Israel Stakes, the coachman, is the only one who
comes from this part of the country, and he seems to be a stolid, honest
fellow, who is not easily scared."

"Poor little girl," I exclaimed, looking down at the slim, graceful
figure by my side. "This is no atmosphere for you to live in. Why will
you not let me rescue you from it? Why won't you allow me to go straight
and ask the general for your hand? At the worst he could only refuse."

She turned quite haggard and pale at the very thought.

"For Heaven's sake, John," she cried earnestly, "do nothing of the kind.
He would whip us all away in the dead of the night, and within a week
we should be settling down again in some wilderness where we might never
have a chance of seeing or hearing from you again. Besides, he never
would forgive us for venturi