“No, no, sir, you know I would not; but to have diamonds and rubies like those! why, they flash so it is enough to tempt one. There’s something awful uncanny about them. Oh! I don’t say that they are not beautiful; but they look like evil eyes fastening on one—they ought not to be here, sir, in a lonely country house—they ought not, really.” “I agree with you, Mrs. Ferguson,” said Rowton, “and I shall take measures to have all this valuable plate and these jewels properly secured. This old safe, strong as it looks, is practically of no use at all. I have ordered another down from town. It will arrive to-morrow or the next day, accompanied by several experts, who will give you, Vickers, Mrs. Rowton, and myself, the cipher of how it is worked. No one will be able to open the safe who does not understand the cipher.” “Then, sir,” said the housekeeper, “I beg to say at once, that no consideration on earth will make me learn it. I’d rather lose a thousand pounds than know how to open that safe.” “Nonsense, woman,” said Rowton, the colour coming into his face as he spoke. “I think that will do now. Put the jewels back again, and the gold plate and the rest of the things. They have lain here for many a month, not to say years, and they may well stay here in safety for a few days longer. Now come along, Nance mine, I want to take you to the stables. Do you know anything about riding?” “I used to ride when I was a girl, and when we lived in Harley Street,” said Nance. “Ah! true,” he said, linking her arm in his and drawing her away from the pantry. Vickers, the butler, was standing outside. He was an elderly man, stoutly built, with a good-natured and good-humoured face. “Go into the pantry and help Mrs. Ferguson put away the plate,” said his master. “Yes, sir,” replied the man. He disappeared immediately, and Nancy and her husband went out of doors. “I forgot,” he said, “that up to the age of—how old were you, Nance, when you left Harley Street?” “Fifteen,” she replied. “Up to the age of fifteen you had all the things which rich girls possess.” “Yes, all,” she answered, tears springing suddenly to her eyes. “The best home, the best father, the most loving mother——” she bit her lips and could not go on. She had a vision before her at that moment of Anthony’s splendid young strength, of his courage, his nobleness. She knew now of whom Murray reminded her. He was like Rowton in feature, but, in heart and mind, he was Anthony’s counterpart. Rowton glanced at her face and guessed something of her thoughts. “Sweetheart,” he said with a certain gravity which was full of sweetness; “I see that as far as possible, I must banish memory from you. You must live, my beloved, in the glorious present, and forget all those shadows of your early youth.” “But why forget its sunshine?” she answered. “Yes, you must even forget its sunshine,” he replied; “for that sun of long ago casts a deep shadow on you now.” “It does,” she answered, “it does.”