Seated back in the shade, where the sunlight of the afternoon did not fall upon him, I saw him lift his hands at the last line, with a gesture half of despair, half of prayer, and then lay them on his pale face. Whatever his burden might be, it was a heavy one. It was he who had asked me to sing—Mr. Chandos; for the first time since I was in the house. Not much of a singer at the best, I never ventured on any but the most simple songs: and, of modern ones, "The Bridge," set to music by Miss Lindsay, is the sweetest. "But now it has fallen from me; It is buried in the sea; And only the sorrow of others Throws its shadow over me." Rather boisterously the door was opened, and Mrs. Penn came in. Her hair was decidedly of a more glowing red than usual; but her light green gown of damask silk, her point-lace lappets thrown behind, her gold ornaments, ay, and herself, were altogether handsome. Mr. Chandos rose. "Oh, I beg your pardon," she said, "for entering so unceremoniously. Hearing the piano, I thought Miss Hereford was alone." I turned round on the music-stool and sat facing the room. Mr. Chandos handed her a chair. "Thank you," she said, hesitating to take it. "Mrs. Chandos is in the west wing: but perhaps I shall be intruding if I remain?" "Not at all," replied Mr. Chandos. "Miss Hereford may be glad of your company. I am going to the west wing myself." "Have you found your manuscript, Mr. Chandos?" "What manuscript?" She paused a moment. "I heard yesterday you had lost one. When Emma came in about her housemaid's duties last evening, she mentioned it." It may as well be said, en passant, that Emma was housemaid to the east wing; Harriet to the chambers on the first floor generally, mine included; Lizzy Dene to the west wing: but it would frequently be the pleasure of Lady Chandos that Lizzy did not enter her apartments for days together, only Hill. "It was a memorandum-book; not a manuscript," said Mr. Chandos. "Oh; I understood her to say a manuscript." "I have not found it," he continued. "Fortunately the contents are of little consequence. They consist chiefly of notes relative to the everyday business of the estate, and a few private items concerning myself. Some things are entered in hieroglyphics of my own," he continued, with a half laugh, "and I'll defy the thief to make them out, however clever he may be. The singular thing is, how it could have disappeared from my locked desk." "You must have left your keys out," she quickly said. "That is more than likely. Having honest people about me at Chandos, I have not been over-particular." "It is a bad practice to leave keys where they may be picked up and used; it gives opportunities that otherwise might never have been seized upon," observed Mrs. Penn, in a dreamy tone. "Not a bit of it, madam. Unless dishonest people are at hand to take advantage of the opportunities." "Then how do you think your book can have gone, Mr. Chandos?"