e-light,
looking about on the books and pictures that they loved, and feeling the
silence like a cordial.

Suddenly Mr. Montfort's air of cheerful meditation changed. He sat
upright, and leaned slightly forward. He seemed to listen for
something. Then suddenly, softly, he rose, and with silent step crossed
the room and stood a moment beside the wall. It was a very different
face that he turned to Margaret the next instant.

"My dear," he said, "there is some one in my study."

"In your study, Uncle John? What do you mean? That is,--how can you
tell, uncle?"

"Come here, and listen!" said her uncle. Margaret stole to his side, and
listened, her head, like his, near the wall. She heard the crackling of
paper; the sound of a drawer pulled softly out; the clank, muffled, but
unmistakable, of brass handles. What did it mean? She looked to her
uncle for explanation. He shook his head and motioned her to be silent.
Then, taking her hand in his, he led her softly from the room. Margaret
followed, greatly wondering, across the wide hall; through the low door
that led to the White Rooms, now her own; into her own sitting-room, or
Aunt Faith's room, as she still loved to call it. Here Mr. Montfort
released her hand, and again motioned her to be silent.

"I will explain by and by, my dear," he said. "Follow me, now, and learn
another lesson in Fernley geography; I was keeping it for a surprise
some day, but never mind. Where is this place?"

Margaret noticed, in all her confusion of surprise, that the great white
chair was pushed away from its usual place. Her uncle stepped in behind
the table near which it always stood, and passed his hand along the
smooth white panel of the wall. Noiselessly it swung open, revealing a
dark space. Margaret obeyed his gesture, and following, found herself in
a narrow passage, carpeted with felt, on which her feet made no sound.
They went forward some way; it was quite dark, but she followed her
uncle's guidance, and he trod as surely as if it were broad daylight.
Presently he stopped, and, with a pressure of the hand, bade her listen
again. The rustling of paper sounded very clear now; there was another
rustle, too, the rustle of silk. Suddenly, light flashed upon them;
Margaret felt herself drawn swiftly forward; there was a smothered
exclamation in her uncle's voice, followed by a scream from another.

They were standing in Mr. Montfort's study. The room was lighted by a
single candle, th