"I cannot fathom this at all: unless we have two light-fingered people in the house. Mrs. Penn's lace must have been cribbed by one of the maids, I fear; but it is hardly likely she'd take a memorandum-book. Where would be the use of it to any one of them? There were things of value in my desk, not touched: a gold paper-knife; a large gold seal; and some loose silver. Well, we must wait; and meanwhile take care of our keys," he concluded, as he left the parlour. I finished my interrupted song in a low voice, sang another or two, and then went up to my room. Mrs. Penn was standing at the library-door. "Has Mr. Chandos gone into the west wing, do you know, Miss Hereford?" "I think so. He quitted the parlour almost as soon as you did." "I am sorry to have missed him. I don't know what he'll think of me. Did you notice my omission?" "What omission?" "Never to have asked after his health. I feel ashamed of myself. I have not seen him since the day's illness he had, when the physician came down to him. I _hate_ to be unfeeling," added Mrs. Penn, in wrath. "But what with seeing him in the oak-parlour when I expected only you were there, and what with the thought of my lace, I completely forgot it." "He says he is better. I think he must be very much better from the alarming state they said he was in that day. But he looks ill." "_That's_ caused by worry; his ill looks," said Mrs. Penn. "I should wonder if he could look well. Look at his figure: it's no better than a skeleton's." We had been walking together to the end of the library. I don't know whether I have mentioned it before, but every evening a good hour before dusk, the door of this library was locked for the night by Hill, and the key carried away in her pocket. Mrs. Penn turned to me as we stood together at the window, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Was there not something _mysterious_ about his illness?" Frankly speaking, I thought there was. But in mind I had connected it in some undefined way with his sleepwalking. I could not say this. "But that he is so remarkably unlikely a subject for it, a living atomy, as may be said, I should think it had been a fit," she continued. "Did you hear whether the London doctor also saw Lady Chandos?" "No, I did not. There's nobody to inquire of, except Hill. And you know how much information we should be likely to get from her." "Except _him_," corrected Mrs. Penn, with emphasis. "With all his sins, Harry Chandos is a gentleman and would give you an answer." I shook my head. It was not my place, a young visitor there on sufferance, to inquire of things they seemed to wish not inquired of: and I said as much to Mrs. Penn. "You are too fastidious, Miss Hereford; you are no better than a schoolgirl. Look here," she added, turning briskly, "this is the workbox. I will show you where the lace was."