d time to read and
dream, Frida's room was locked, and nobody could find the key. The
Colonel, more than ever convinced that his meteorological chronicle
was concealed in Frida's room, ordered the door to be burst open.
Durant lent a shoulder to the work and entered somewhat
precipitately, followed by the Colonel.

The meteorological chronicle, the labor of years, was found where
its author had left it, on his writing-table, together with his
other papers, business letters, household accounts, Primrose League
programs, all carefully sorted, dated, and docketed. Many of the
letters had been answered; they lay, addressed in Frida's
handwriting, ready for the post. She had left her work in such
perfect order that a new secretary could have been fitted into her
place without a hitch. The fact was eloquent of finality and the
winding up of affairs; but certain other details were more eloquent
still.

Order on the writing-table; in the rest of the room confusion and
disarray, rifled bookcases and dismantled walls. Fresh squares of
wall-paper outlined in cobwebs marked the places where the great
maps had hung. The soul of the room was gone from it with the
portrait of the late Mrs. Tancred; the watercolor drawings, sad work
of her restless fingers, were no longer there. The furniture had
been pushed aside to make room for the deed of desecration; the
floor was littered with newspapers and straw; an empty packing-case
lay on its side, abandoned, in a corner.

The Colonel opened round eyes of astonishment, but his mustache was
still. He rang the bell and summoned the servants. Under severe
cross-examination, Chaplin, the footman, gave evidence that three
packing-cases had left Coton Manor for the station early in the
morning before the bursting of the storm. Frida, too, had discerned
the face of the sky, and--admirable strategist!--had secured her
transports. The Colonel dismissed his witnesses, and appealed
helplessly to Durant; indeed, the comprehension in the young man's
face gave him an appearance of guilty complicity.

"What does it mean, Durant? what does it mean?"

Durant smiled, not without compassion. When a young woman arranges
her accounts, and makes off with three packing-cases, containing her
library and her mother's portrait, the meaning obviously is that she
is not coming back again in a hurry. He suggested that perhaps Miss
Tancred proposed to make a lengthier stay on the Continent than had
been surmised.