The car stopped at the Abbey door, and Winnington, still absolutely silent, helped her to alight. She led the way, past the drawing-room where Lady Tonbridge sat rather anxiously expecting her, to that bare room on the ground floor, the little gun-room, which Gertrude Marvell had made her office, and where many signs of her occupation still remained--a calendar on the wall marking the "glorious" dates of the League--a flashlight photograph of the first raid on Parliament some years before--a faded badge, and scattered piles of newspapers. A couple of deal tables and two chairs were all the furniture the room contained, in addition to the cupboards, painted in stone-colour, which covered the walls. Delia closed the door, and threw off her furs. Then, with a gesture of complete abandonment, she went up to Winnington, holding out her hands-- "Oh, Mark, Mark, I want you to help me!" He took her hands, but without pressing them. His face, frowning and flushed, with a little quivering of the nostrils, began to terrify her-- "Oh, Mark,--dear Mr. Mark--I went to see Mr. Lathrop--because--because I was in great trouble--and I thought he could help me." He dropped the hands. "You went to _him_--instead of to me? How long have you been with him? Did you write to him to arrange it?" "No, no--we met by accident. Mark, it's not myself--it's a fear I have--a dreadful, dreadful fear!" She came close to him, piteously, just murmuring-- "It's Monk Lawrence!--and Gertrude!" He started, and looked at her keenly-- "You know something I don't know?" "Oh yes, I do, I do!" she said, wringing her hands. "I ought to have told you long ago. But I've been afraid of what you might do--I've been afraid for Gertrude. Can't you see, Mark? I've been trying to make Mr. Lathrop keep watch--enquire--so that they wouldn't dare. I've told Gertrude that I know--I've written to people--I've done all I could. And this afternoon I felt I must go there and see for myself, what precautions had been taken--and I met Mr. Lathrop--" She gave a rapid account of their visit to the house,--of its complete desertion--of the strange behaviour of the niece--and of the growing alarm in her own mind. "There's something--there's some plot. Perhaps that woman's in it. Perhaps Gertrude's got hold of her--or Miss Andrews. Anyway, if that house can be left quite alone--ever--they'll get at it--that I'm sure of. Why did she take the children away? Wasn't that strange?" Then she put her hands on the heart that fluttered so--and tried to smile-- "But of course till the Bill's thrown out, there can be no danger, can there? There _can't_ be any!" she repeated, as though appealing to him to reassure her. "I don't understand yet," he said gravely. "Why do you suspect Miss Marvell, or a plot at all? There was no such idea in your mind when we went over the house together?"