"But I should try the belladonna! I should certainly try the belladonna!" said the Dean urgently. He shuffled along the passage, but before his wife had time to re-enter the room he was back again, his face alight with inspiration. "Evelyn, I was thinking! A gold watch and chain--the same as we gave the girls at Christmas.--How would that do, eh? We might present them to her as a small--er,--acknowledgment of--er,--gratitude! What do you think of that? Does it strike you as a good idea?" "Capital, Austin! Much better than the belladonna!" cried Mrs Faucit. She patted him approvingly upon the shoulder, and the Dean went off to his study rubbing his hands, and chuckling to himself, like a kindly, innocent child, which indeed he was, despite all the learning which had made him famous. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. FRIENDS AT LAST! There was a constant coming and going at The Deanery during the whole of that day, and the very atmosphere seemed full of excitement. Mrs Faucit, however, kept Mildred a prisoner in her own room, gave her an interesting book to read, and forbade the subject of the robbery to be mentioned in her hearing, with the result that by evening she was herself once more, chatting with the girls, and only lapsing into melancholy at the remembrance of poor, unhappy Cecile. The next morning Mildred saw Lady Sarah for the first time since the eventful moment when she had started on her search for James's bedroom. The old lady was sitting in her favourite corner by the drawing-room window, wrapped in shawls, and supported by pillows, for at her advanced age such an experience as she had known was not easily outlived, and as Mildred paced the garden walks with her friends, she received a message to the effect that Lady Sarah wished to see her alone for a few minutes, as she had something particular to say. "My thanks are due, Most kind and generous maiden, unto you!" quoted Lois, from a play which had been performed at school at the beginning of the Christmas holidays, and Mildred gave a little laugh of complacency. The quotation sounded appropriately in her ears, for she had no doubt that she was summoned to hear grateful acknowledgment for the help which she had given on the night of the attempted robbery. As she walked across the lawn towards the house, she was rehearsing the scene to herself, after a habit of her own on occasions like the present. "My dear Mildred! How can I thank you sufficiently!" Lady Sarah, she imagined, cried enthusiastically. "Oh, pray, don't mention it! I have done nothing at all!" She screwed her face into the very smile of polite protest with which she would give her answer, and was proceeding to invent an emphatic disclaimer from Lady Sarah, when she came face to face with the Benjamin of the household--little, mischievous Erroll, who was strolling about the garden in search of adventure.