"Well, Vi?"

Miss Forster's reply was still briefer; she merely echoed the other's first word. "Well?"

Her ladyship waited; the girl continued still.

"Is that all you have to say to me?"

Miss Forster sighed, the long-drawn sigh of the sick at heart. Her tone was in tune with the sigh.

"Margaret, if I were to start telling you all there is to tell--and I am so tired. I feel as if I hadn't slept for years, and as if I should never sleep again."

Her ladyship's tone was practical.

"That's all very well, my dear; I can see you're not feeling yourself, but don't you think you ought to tell me something?"

"I'll do better than tell you, since actions speak louder than words."

Miss Forster raised the blue velvet cover, and she opened the chest, this time without interruption; from within she took a brown leather bag and held it out to the countess, who observed it with doubtful eyes.

"What bag is that?"

"Take it and see."

The countess took it, a little gingerly, as if she feared that unpleasant consequences might come from touching it.

"Vi, what are you playing at? Whose is this bag, and how did it get into that chest, and why have you given it to me, and what is in the thing?"

"I cannot tell you quite, as I've only seen the outside of the bag, and that for a moment only, but I can guess what it contains."

"Then it's not yours?"

The girl shook her head.

"Then why have you given it to me?"

"I fancy, if you look inside, its contents will supply the answer."

"But whose bag is it?"

"That I cannot tell you."

"But what right have you to give me permission to look into a bag that certainly doesn't belong to you?"

"Don't be silly, Margaret; I fancy its contents will explain why you should not stand on foolish points of etiquette; open it."

The countess did as she was bid--then broke into exclamation.

"Why, Vi, whatever is all this?"

"That's what I want to know."

"It looks as if it were a diamond necklace."

"I shouldn't be surprised if there were more than one."

"Vi, it's stuffed with them!"

"I thought so; I fancy, when you come to make inquiries, that you will find all those precious things whose loss your guests are bemoaning."

"Was it Jane Simmons who took them?"

"That is a subject on which I would rather you asked me no questions; I cannot answer them."

"But, my dear child, what reason have you for screening her?" Miss Forster merely shook her head. "But in the face of this you can't expect to be allowed to take up an att.i.tude of silence. What explanation am I to give?"

"Give any explanation you choose; you'll find that the people will be too glad to have their things restored to bother you with questions."

"That's all you know; each one of those women will insist on knowing how I was able to restore them, and if I can't give a satisfactory answer they'll begin to think unpleasant things of me. I must tell them something--what am I to tell them? Am I to tell them that I found them in a leather bag which you handed over as if it were a cup of tea? If I do, then for the history of the bag they'll refer to you."

"Then they'll not get it. I'm very sorry, Margaret, but if you knew how I feel you'd let me off, at least for a while; talk to me later on.

Mayn't I go upstairs, and try to get a little sleep? I believe that if I could I'd be better able to talk to you than I am now."

Shutting her eyes, the girl pressed her fingers against the lids as if they ached with weariness. The countess did show some signs of sympathy.

"My poor dear Violet, do get between the sheets, and get all the sleep you can; sleep the clock round, if you like. Is your foot still bad?

Shall I come up and help you into bed?"

"No, thank you, Margaret; my foot isn't all that I could wish it to be, but I think I can manage. If you only knew how much I want to be alone!"

There was a pathetic something in the girl's voice which touched the other's heart; there was such a ring of sincerity in the expression of her desire to be alone.

She suffered the girl to go, so conscious of her wish to escape the scrutiny of even friendly eyes that she did not turn to look at her.

When the pit-pat of her slippered feet had died away, her ladyship said to herself, with rueful visage:

"That girl's in a mood for anything; I'm not sure that I was wise to let her go alone; but how could I thrust myself upon her craving for solitude? I only hope she'll do nothing worse than she's done already.

Now, who's that? Is she coming back again, or is it Jane Simmons? Those steps belong to neither--that's Rupert; he's found out that I'm missing, and he's coming dashing after me."

The lady's surmise proved to be correct; someone was "dashing" after her, two or three stairs at a time--a gentleman who, rushing out into the hall, looked about him; then, espying her, exclaimed:

"Margaret! You little wretch! If you only knew what a fright you gave me. What the d.i.c.kens made you get out of bed, out of the room, at this time of the morning and slip down here?"

"Business."

"Business! What in thunder do you mean by business?"

The gentleman approached close to the lady's side; she was looking up at him with the demurest smile.

"Rupert, I've had a dream."