“You rouse my curiosity to the highest pitch. Let’s hurry.” Miss Rindy was as astonished to see Reed as she was glad to see Ellen. “I’d like to know where you came from!” she exclaimed as the two entered. “I told you not to get up till noon, and I told Beulah to lock that door.” “You forgot there are windows, a porch roof, and posts, dear madam.” “Don’t you madam me; I’m a spinster, you sly, crafty youth. Well, Ellen, you did get back safe, thanks to this boy. I hope you’re none the worse for your outing.” “Not a bit. I hope you are none the worse for your vigil.” “As if I wasn’t used to sitting up all night. I did it times without number over there in France, and often enough before that.” She was not going to let Ellen think that she had been anxious about her. Here Mabel, accompanied by Tom, entered. “I feel as if I had been away a year,” exclaimed the girl. “I hope I find you well, Miss Crump.” “As well as anybody could feel after all this hulla-baloo. Getting me up at the dead hours of the night with a crazy tale of castaways.” “Oh, but you were up already, Miss Rindy,” declared Reed. “Well, I hadn’t gone to bed, that’s true. I must have fallen asleep in my chair, and didn’t realize the time.” She gave a little laugh, which belied her words, and then turned the subject by saying that they must have some breakfast; and, in spite of the fact that all insisted that they needed none, she set aside their assertions, claiming that she and Reed wanted some if nobody else did, so all sat down together, and, with new appetites, whetted by their morning trip on the water, did justice to Beulah’s waffles. An hour later Reed and Ellen sought a sheltered corner under the shadow of a great rock. Just as they were leaving the house Mabel ran after them, waving a letter. “Miss Rindy says she forgot to give you this; it came in the mail after we left yesterday.” Ellen took the letter, glanced at the typewritten address, and slipped it into the pocket of the coat she wore. Then, with Reed, she seated herself. “Now tell me your news,” she said. Reed was silent for a moment, then he drew from his pocket a letter which he spread out upon his knee. “This is from Uncle Pete’s lawyer,” he said. “Don Pedro’s lawyer? What’s he writing to you about? Have you been doing anything reprehensible?” Ellen asked flippantly. “No. One doesn’t always receive letters from lawyers because of misdemeanors; there are such things as wills, you know.” Ellen stared at him for a moment in speechless silence; then, as a possible meaning of his words reached her, she gasped, “You don’t mean—you can’t mean that dear Don Pedro is—is——” Reed nodded. “He was taken ill in the mountains where he was spending the summer, and lived but a few days.” Ellen covered her face with her hands, then raised wet eyes to Reed’s grave face. “Your letter, what does it say?”