On the morning of that very day, however, just before Fanny bade her father good-bye, he had said to her, "Fan, my dear, there's a trifle worrying me, although I don't suppose for a single moment you can help me in the matter." "What is it, father?" asked the girl. "Well, the fact is this. I am going, as you know, to India for the next few years, and it is quite possible that as the cottage at Craigie Muir will belong to the Vivian girls--for poor Frances bought it and allowed those Scotch folk the Macfarlanes to live there--it is, I say, quite possible that you may go to Craigie Muir for a summer holiday with your cousins. The air is superb, and would do you much good, and of course the girls would be wild with delight. Well, my dear, if you go, I want you to look round everywhere--you have good, sharp eyes in your head, Fan, my girl--and try if you can find a little sealed packet which poor Frances left to be taken care of by me for your three cousins." "A sealed packet?" said Fanny. She felt herself turning very pale. "Yes. Do you know anything about it?" "Oh, father!" said poor Fanny; and her eyes filled with tears. "What is the matter, my child?" "I--I'd so much rather not talk about it, please." "Then you do know something?" "Please, please, father, don't question me!" "I won't if you don't wish it; but your manner puzzles me a good deal. Well, dear, if you can get it by any chance, you had better put it into Mrs. Haddo's charge until I return. I asked those poor children if they had seen it, and they denied having done so." Fanny felt herself shiver, and had to clasp her hands very tightly together. "I also asked that good shepherd Donald Macfarlane and his wife, and they certainly knew nothing about it. I can't stay with you any longer now, my little girl; but if you do happen to go to Craigie Muir you might remember that I am a little anxious on the subject, for it is my wish to carry out the directions of my dear cousin Frances in all particulars. Now, try to be very, very good to your cousins, Fan; and remember how lonely they are, and how differently they have been brought up from you." Fanny could not speak, for she was crying too hard. Sir John presently went away, and forgot all about the little packet. But Fanny remembered it; in fact, she could not get it out of her head during the entire day; and in the course of the afternoon, when she found that the Vivian girls joined the group of the Specialities, she forced a chair between Betty and Olive Repton, and seated herself on it, and purposely, hating herself all the time for doing so, felt Betty's pocket. Beyond doubt there was something hard in it. It was not a pocket-handkerchief, nor did it feel like a pencil or a knife or anything of that sort.