One day, in a calmer mood, as she sat in her room after a long talk with Phœbe, the girl came beside her chair with an oddly made key, with a little strap of white leather to the handle, in her hands. "Here's a latch-key, Miss; maybe you know what it opens?" "Where did you find it?" "In the old china vase over the chimney, please 'm." "Let me see--oh! dear, yes, this opens the door in the wall of the grounds, in that direction," and she pointed. "Poor papa lent it to my drawing-master. He lived somewhere beyond that, and used to let himself in by it when he came to give me my lessons." "I remember that door well, Miss," said Phœbe, looking earnestly on the key--"Mr. Crozier let me out that way, one day. Mr. Longcluse has put strangers, you know, in the gatehouse. That's shut against us. I'll tell you what, Miss--wait--well, I'll _think_. I'll keep this key safe, anyhow; and--the more the merrier," she added with a sudden alacrity, and lifting her finger, by way of signal, for everything now was done with caution here, she left the room, and passed through the suite to the landing, and quietly took out the door-keys, one by one, and returned with her spoil to Alice's room. "You thought they might lock us up?" whispered Alice. The girl nodded. "No harm to have 'em, Miss--it won't hurt us." She folded them tightly in a handkerchief, and thrust the parcel as far as her arm could reach between the mattress and the bed. "I'll rip the ticken a bit just now, and stitch them in," whispered the girl. "Didn't I hear another key clink as you put your hand in?" asked Alice. The girl smiled, and drew out a large key, and nodded, still smiling as she replaced it. "What does that open?" whispered Alice eagerly. "_Nothing_, Miss," said the girl gravely--"it's the key of the old back-door lock; but there's a new one there now, and this won't open nothing. But I have a use for it. I'll tell you all in time, Miss; and, please, you must keep up your heart, mind." Sir Richard Arden was not the cold villain you may suppose. He was resolved to make an effort of some kind for the extrication of his sister. He could not bear to open his dreadful situation to his Uncle David, nor to kill himself, nor to defy the vengeance of Longcluse. He would effect her escape and his own simultaneously. In the meantime he must acquiesce, ostensibly at least, in every step determined on by Longcluse. It was a bright autumnal day as Sir Richard and Mr. Longcluse took the rail to Southampton. Longcluse had his reasons for taking the young baronet with him.