“Yes. Contorted into foxes and dogs and bears. I fancy there is a cock, who looks exactly as if he meant to crow, just inside the entrance gate.” Rowton’s face wore a quizzical expression. “Where is the entrance?” asked Nancy. “I am dying to see the garden.” “Not to-day,” replied her husband. He drew her hand through his arm. They walked on in silence for a moment, then he bent down and looked at her. “Are you vexed, little woman?” he asked. “I try not to be,” she answered; “but it seems a simple thing just to show me that last garden. I have never seen a proper Queen Anne garden, and this one——” “You feel a pin prick of natural womanly curiosity,” said Rowton; “suppress it, dearest. Now I am going to confide in you to a certain extent. I did not mean to, but I see that it is necessary. I have brought you to a beautiful home, have I not?” “Lovely—a palace,” said Nancy. “The whole place is yours,” continued her husband: “the house, the ground, with—with a reservation.” “Yes?” she asked, looking up at him with parted lips. “With a reservation,” he continued. “There is a wing of the house which you are never to enter. That wing looks into the Queen Anne garden—you are, therefore, never to go into the Queen Anne garden.” “Never, Adrian, never?” “Never, darling.” “Why so?” “I meant to keep the reason from you,” said Rowton; “but I must tell it—there is a reason.” “Yes?” she said again. She began to tremble. “You heard Murray speak of his mother last night,” continued the man, standing very upright as he spoke, folding his arms and looking down at Nancy’s slim young figure. “Yes,” she replied. “The boy’s mother lives in that wing.” “What?” cried Nancy. “She lives in the wing into which you are never to go,” continued Rowton. “She takes exercise in the Queen Anne garden. You need not be afraid of her, but you are never to see her.” “Why, why?” “Because she is mad.” CHAPTER XII. SILVER. These words had scarcely passed Rowton’s lips before he abruptly turned and saw a little man crossing the lawn to meet him. “Scrivener! by all that is unpleasant,” he muttered under his breath. He turned to Nancy who, very white and frightened, stood by his side. “Go into the house now,” he said; “go up to your room and unpack your things, or sit by the fire in the library and enjoy a right good read of one of the many novels which are scattered about. I want to speak to that man who is coming across the lawn.” “Who is he, Adrian?” “A devil,” said Adrian. “Go away; he is not to see you.” She turned abruptly at his words. His tone completed the trembling at her heart; she tottered rather than walked into the house; she was full of fear and misery. Rowton, without even glancing after her, went to meet his unwelcome guest. “Now, what has brought you here?” he asked.