Castalia shut it, and fastened it inside. Then she pulled out a bunch of keys from her pocket, and tried them, one after the other, on the lock of the secretaire. This time it was safely secured, and not one of her keys fitted it. Then she opened the drawer of the table, and examined its contents. They consisted of papers, some printed, some written, a pair of driving gloves, and the cover of a letter directed to Algernon Errington, Esq., in a woman's hand. Castalia pounced on the cover, and thrust it into her pocket. After that, she looked behind the almanac on the chimney-piece, and rummaged amongst a litter of newspapers, and torn scraps of writing that lay in a basket. She was thus engaged when Mr. Gibbs's hand was laid on the handle of the door, and Mr. Gibbs's voice was heard demanding admission. Castalia opened the door at once, and Mr. Gibbs came in with a look of unconcealed annoyance on his face. He looked round the room sharply. "What do you want?" asked Castalia. "I want to see that all's right here, ma'am. I'm responsible." "What should be wrong? What do you mean?" she demanded with so coldly-haughty an air, that Gibbs was abashed. He felt he had gone too far, and muttered an apology. "I wanted to see to the fire. I'm afraid the coal-box is nearly empty. That old woman is so careless. I beg your pardon, but Mr. Errington is very particular about the room being kept warm." Castalia deigned not to notice him or his speech. She drew her shawl round her shoulders, and began to move away. "Can I give any message for you to Mr. Errington, ma'am?" "No----you need not mention that I came. I shall tell him myself this evening." As she walked down the High Street, she reflected on Mr. Gibbs's unwonted rudeness of look and manner. "He is told to watch me; to drive me away if possible; to prevent me making any discoveries. I daresay they are all in a league together. I am the poor dupe of a wife--the stranger who knows nothing, and is to know nothing. We shall see; we shall see. I wonder where Ancram can have gone! That boy spoke of seeing him near Maxfield's house." At that moment she found herself close to it, and with a sudden impulse she entered the shop, and, walking up to a man who stood behind the counter, said, "Is Mr. Errington here?" The man was James Maxfield, and he answered sulkily, "I don't know whether he's gone or not. You'd better inquire at the private door." Castalia's heart gave a great throb. "He has been here, then?" she said. "You'd better inquire at the private door," was all James's response, delivered still more surlily than before. Castalia left the shop, and knocked at the door indicated to her by James's thumb jerked over his shoulder. "Is Mr. Errington gone?" she asked of the girl who opened the door. "Yes, ma'am." "Did he--did he stay long?" "About half an hour, I think." "Is Mr. Maxfield at home?" "No, ma'am; master is at Duckwell, and has been since Saturday."