"Well, now, darling, how could they? n.o.body but Sylvia knows that I live at The Priory, and why should they think that you had gone there? No; it is the police they will question, and the village they will go to, and the railway maybe. But it is fun to think of the fine chase we are giving them, and all to no purpose."

Evelyn laughed, and the two, holding each other's hands, continued on their way. By and by they reached the back entrance to The Priory.

Jasper had left the gate a little ajar. Pilot came up to show attentions; he began to growl at Evelyn, but Jasper laid her hand on his big forehead.

"A friend, good dog! A little friend, Pilot," was Jasper's remark; and then Pilot wagged his tail and allowed his friend Jasper-to whom he was much attached, as she furnished him with unlimited chicken-bones-to go to the house. Two or three minutes later Evelyn found herself established in Jasper's snug, pretty little bedroom. There the fire blazed; supper was in course of preparation. Evelyn flung herself down on a chair and panted slightly.

"So this is where you live?" she said.

"Yes, my darling, this is where I live."

"And where is Sylvia?" asked Evelyn.

"She is having supper with her father at the present moment."

"Oh! I should like to see her. How excited and astonished she will be!

She won't tell-you are sure of that, Jasper?"

"Tell! Sylvia tell!" said Jasper. "Not quite, my dearie."

"Well, I should like to see her."

"She'll be here presently."

"You have not told that I was coming?"

"No, darling; I thought it best not."

"That is famous, Jasper; and do you know, I am quite hungry, so you might get something to eat without delay."

"You did not by any chance forget the money?" said Jasper, looking anxiously at Evelyn.

"Oh no; it is in my little black bag; you had better take it while you think of it. It is in two rolls; Uncle Edward gave it to me. It is all gold-gold sovereigns; and there are twenty of them."

"Are not you a darling, a duck, and all the rest!" said Jasper, much relieved at this information. "I would not worry you for the money, darling," she continued as she bustled about and set the milk on to boil for Evelyn's favorite beverage, "but that my own funds are getting seriously low. You never knew such a state as we live in here. But we have fun, darling; and we shall have all the more fun now that you have come."

Evelyn leant back in her chair without replying. She had lived through a good deal that day, and she was tired and glad to rest. She felt secure.

She was hungry, too; and it was nice to be petted by Jasper. She watched the preparations for the chocolate, and when it was made she sipped it eagerly, and munched a sponge-cake, and tried to believe that she was the happiest little girl in the world. But, oh! what ailed her? How was it that she could not quite forget the horrid days at the Castle, and the dreadful days at school, and Audrey's face, and Lady Frances's manner, and-last but not least-dear, sweet, kind Uncle Edward?

"And I never proved to him that I could shoot a bird on the wing," she thought. "What a pity-what a sad pity! He will find the gun loaded, and how astonished he will be! And he will never, never know that it was his Evelyn loaded it and left it ready. Oh dear! I am sorry that I am not likely to see Uncle Edward for a long time again. I am sorry that Uncle Edward will be angry; I do not mind about any one else, but I am sorry about him."

Just then there came the sound of a high-pitched and sweet voice in the kitchen outside.

"There is Sylvia," said Jasper. "I am going to tell her now, and to bring her in."

She went into the outside kitchen. Sylvia, in her shabbiest dress, with a pinched, cold look on her face, was standing by the embers of the fire.

"Oh Jasper," she said eagerly, "I do not know what to make of my father to-night! He has evidently had bad news by the post to-day-something about his last investments. I never saw him so low or so irritable, and he was quite cross about the nice little hash you made for his supper.

He says that he will cut down the fuel-supply, and that I am not to have big fires for cooking; and, worst of all, Jasper, he threatens to come into the kitchen to see for himself how I manage. Do you know, I feel quite frightened to-night. He is very strange in his manner, and suspicious; and he looks so cold, too. No fire will he allow in the sitting-room. He gets worse and worse."

"Well, darling," said Jasper as cheerfully as she could, "this is an old story, is it not? He did eat his hash, when all is said and done."

"Yes; but I don't like his manner. And you know he discovered about the boxes in the box-room."

"That is over and done with too," said Jasper. "He cannot say much about that; he can only puzzle and wonder, but it would take him a long time to find out the truth."

"I don't like his way," repeated Sylvia.

"And perhaps you don't like my way either, Sylvia," said a strange voice; and Sylvia uttered a scream, for Evelyn stood before her.

"Evelyn!" cried the girl. "Where have you come from? Oh, what is the matter? Oh, I do declare my head is going round!"

She clasped her hands to her forehead in absolute bewilderment. Jasper went and locked the kitchen door.

"Now we are safe," she said; "and you two had best go into the bedroom.

Yes, you had, for when he comes along it is the wisest plan for him to find the kitchen locked and the place in darkness. He will never think of my bedroom; and, indeed, when the curtains are drawn and the shutters shut you cannot get a blink of light from the outside, however hard you try."

"Come, Sylvia," said Evelyn. She took Sylvia's hand and dragged her into the bedroom.

"But why have you come, Evelyn? Why is it?" said poor Sylvia, in great distress and alarm.

"You will have to welcome me whether you like it or not," said Evelyn; "and what is more, you will have to be true to me. I came here because I have run away-run away from the school and the fuss and the disgrace of to-morrow-run away from horrid Aunt Frances and from the horrid Castle; and I have come here to dear old Jasper; and I have brought my own money, so you need not be at any expense. And if you tell you will-- But, oh, Sylvia, you will not tell?"

"But this is terrible!" said Sylvia. "I don't understand-I cannot understand."

"Sit down, Miss Sylvia, dearie," said Jasper, "and I will try to explain."

Sylvia sank down on the side of the little white bed.

"Now I know why you were getting this ready," she said. "You would not explain to me, and I thought perhaps it was for me. Oh dear! oh dear!"

"I longed to tell you, but I dared not," said Jasper. "Would I let my sweet little lady die or be disgraced? That is not in me. She will hide here with me for a bit, and afterwards-it will come all right afterwards, my dear Miss Sylvia. Why, there, darlings! I love you both.

And see what I have been planning. I mean to go up-stairs to-night and sleep in your room, Miss Sylvia. Yes, darling; and you and Miss Evelyn can sleep together here. The supper is all ready, and I have had as much as I want. I mean to go quickly; and then if your father comes along and rattles at the kitchen door he'll get no answer, and if he peers through the keyhole, the place will be black as night. Then, being made up of suspicions, poor man, he'll tramp up-stairs and he'll thunder at your door; but it will be locked, and after a time I'll answer him in your voice from the heart of the big bed, and all his suspicions will melt away like snow when the sun shines on it. That is all, Miss Sylvia; and I mean to do it, and at once, too; for if we were so careful and chary and anxious before, we must be twice as careful and twice as chary now that I have got the precious little Eve to look after."

Jasper's plan was carried out to the letter. Sylvia did not like it, but at the same time she did not know how to oppose it; and when Evelyn put her arms round her neck and was soft and gentle-she who was so hard with most, and so difficult to manage-and when she pleaded with tears in her big brown eyes and a pathetic look on her white face, Sylvia yielded for the present. Whatever happened, she would not betray her.

CHAPTER XXVIII.-THE ROOM WITH THE LIGHT THAT FLICKERED.

Now, all might have gone well for the little conspirators but for Evelyn herself. But when the girls, tired with talking, tired with the spirit of adventure, had lain down-Sylvia in Jasper's bed, and Evelyn in the new little white couch which had been got so lovingly ready for her-Sylvia, tired out, soon fell asleep; but Evelyn could not rest. She was pleased, excited, relieved, but at the same time she had a curious sense of disappointment about her. Her heart beat fast; she wondered what was happening. It seemed to her that in this tiny room at the back of the kitchen she was in a sort of prison. The sense of being in prison was anything but pleasant to this child of a free country and of an untrained mother. She slipped softly out of bed, and going to the window, unbarred the heavy shutters and looked out.

There was a moon in the sky, and the garden stood in streaks of bright light, and of dense shadow where the thick yew-hedge shut away the cold rays of the moon. Evelyn's white little face was pressed against the pane. Pilot stalked up and down outside, now and then baying to the moon, now and then uttering a suspicious bark, but he never glanced in the direction of the window out of which Evelyn looked. To the right of the window lay the hens' run and hen-house which have already been mentioned in these pages. Evelyn knew nothing about them, however; she thought the view ugly and uninteresting. She disliked the thick yew-hedge and the gnarled old yew-tree, and grumbling under her breath, she turned from the window, having quite forgotten to close the shutters. She got into bed now and fell asleep, little knowing what mischief she had done.

For it was on that very same night that Mr. Leeson determined, not to bury his bags of gold, but to dig them up. He was in a weak and trembling condition, and what he considered the most terrible misfortune had overpowered him, for the large sums which he had lately invested in the Kilcolman Gold-mines had been irretrievably lost; the gold-mines were nothing more nor less than a huge fraud, and all the shareholders had lost their money. The daily papers were full of the fraudulent scheme, and indignation was rife against the promoters of the company.

But little cared Mr. Leeson for that; one fact alone concerned him. He, who grudged a penny to give his only child warmth and comfort, had by one fell blow lost thousands of pounds. He was almost like a man bereft of his senses. When Sylvia had left him that evening he had stood for some time in the cold and desolate parlor; then he sat down and began to think. His money was invested in more than one apparently promising speculation. He meant to call it all in-to collect it all and leave the country. He would not trust another sovereign in any bank in the kingdom; he would guard his own money; above all things, he would guard his precious savings. He had saved during his residence at The Priory something over twelve hundred pounds. This money, which really represented income, not capital, had been taken from what ought to have been spent on the necessaries of life. More and more had he saved, until a penny saved was more valuable in his eyes than any virtue under the sun; and as he saved and added sovereign to sovereign, he buried his money in canvas bags in the garden. But the time had come now to dig up his gold and fly. There were three trunks in the box-room; he would divide the money between the three. They were strong, covered with cow-hide, old-fashioned, safe to endure even such a weight as was to be put into them. He had made all his plans. He meant to take Sylvia, leave The Priory, and go. What further savings he could effect in a foreign land he knew not; he only wanted to be up and doing. This night, just when the moon set, would be the very time for his purpose. He was anxious-very anxious-about those fresh trunks which had been put into the attic; there was something also about Sylvia which aroused his suspicions. He felt certain that she was not quite so open with him as formerly. Those suppers were too good, too delicate, too tasty to be eaten without suspicion. At the best she was burning too much fuel. He would go round to the kitchen this very night and see for himself that the fire was out-dead out. Why should Sylvia warm herself by the kitchen fire while he shivered fireless and almost candleless in the desolate parlor? Soon after ten o'clock, therefore, he started on his rounds. He went through room after room, looking into each; he had never been so restless. He felt that a great and terrible task lay before him, and so bewildered was his mind, so much was his balance shaken, that he thought more of the twelve hundred pounds which he had saved than of the thousands which he had lost by foolish investment. The desolate rooms in the old Priory were all as they had ever been-scarcely any furniture in some, no furniture at all in others; they were bare and bleak and ugly.

He went to the kitchen; the door was locked. He shook it and called aloud; there was no answer.