"And Susan," after a little wait, "has anybody been to see me?" "Not a soul!" emphatically. "Don't you tell anybody where I am, _anybody_, you hear. Good-by!" suddenly. "Dat I won't." Susan hung up the receiver. As she stepped off the stool the door-bell rang. She went to answer it nimbly, though she was bent with rheumatism. A young man stood on the single broad step above the pavement of the corridor. He doffed his cap, but Susan stood stiffly in the middle of the doorway. "Marse Robert is not at home," she said coldly. The young man flushed, looked half embarrassed and started to pass her. "I would like to see Miss Frances!" Susan dodged before him. "She's not at home." "When will she be back?" asked the young man, angered at the old darkey's manner. "I dunno!" "Tell her that I will call and see her a few moments this evening." He unbuttoned his coat and fumbled for his card-case. Susan waited until the bit of cardboard was in her hand. "She won't be hyar!" she said in a perfectly expressionless tone, as she turned the card over in her yellow palm and eyed it curiously. "When will she be?" "Lord only knows!" "She's at home?" asked the young fellow in a sudden sharp anxiety. "Dat she ain't!" "What! Where is she?" Susan looked at him, her black eyes in her wrinkled face still as pools of ink and as fathomless. "I dunno," she lied. "When did she go?" "Yestiddy." Light was breaking in on the young man, light and darkness; light as to the deserted air of the house, darkness as to Frances and her motives. "And you don't know where she went?" He stood for a few moments, his eyes on the worn pavement at his feet. Presently his hand slipped again into his pocket. "If you can, tell me where she is," he said suavely; "save me an envelope of a letter, you know." Susan nodded, comprehension all over her face. He slid a bill into her hand. One quick glance out of the tail of her eye showed Susan the V in the corner. Tremulous with delight she clasped her hands over her treasure under her apron. "You'll keep me posted?" Susan nodded a seemingly joyful assent. The young man stepped down on the pavement; as if in sudden thought he turned back. "Who was that young fellow I saw with Mr. Holloway yesterday?" Susan grinned with affability. Having lied once with ease, she did it now with grace. "Dat? Dat's Marse Edward Montague, sah!" "And who is he?" "De--laws--a--me! Don't you know? Dat's Miss Frances' beau." Susan, when she saw the look which flashed into his eyes, knew she had scored for many things; she had scored for Miss Frances' white cheeks and dark, troubled eyes; she had scored for her own loneliness without her. XI It was ten days later that, as Lawson hurried down the corridor past the professor's house, the curtains of the library window were stirred slightly and a skinny finger beckoned him.