“Oh, yes,” Editha answered, with a shudder, feeling that it would be impossible ever to forget that repulsive face that had so startled her at the window in John Loker’s miserable home. She was now beginning to recover her strength, and signified her readiness to go on if her companion would accompany her. She longed to get away from the dismal place, and as if she would never dare enter a by-street again as long as she lived. The man readily went with her to the next street, and waited to see her safely seated in a car, and in less than fifteen minutes she was once more in her own luxurious home, heartily thankful for her escape from a ruffian’s power. Mr. Dalton expressed some surprise at her being out so late—remarked, with some indifference, that she looked pale, and asked if she was not well, and then added that dinner had been waiting for more than half an hour. She simply replied that she was well, and regretted that he should have waited dinner for her, but she had been unavoidably detained. Editha Dalton knew that she must keep her own counsel regarding that evening’s adventures. The time had come when she could not trust her dearest interests in the hands of her father. She knew he would have no sympathy with her regarding the confession she had obtained and would oppose rather than aid her in making it public to vindicate Earle. But she had resolved to go to Mr. Felton, on the morrow, put the precious evidence in his hands, and be guided by his ever wise counsel. She retired to her own rooms as soon as dinner was dispatched, and immediately set herself to work to make a careful copy of John Loker’s confession to send to Earle. And then, with something of the fear creeping over her that she had experienced while in Tom Drake’s power, she looked around for a safe place in which to hide the original. She would not take it below and put in into the safe, for she knew that burglars were not troubled nowadays about opening such things, let them have ever so complicated a lock, and she could not sleep until it was safely disposed of somewhere. “_What_ shall I do with it?” she said, with flushed cheeks and anxious brow. “Something tells me I must _hide_ it even for to-night.” No drawer with any common lock would be a safe place, she reasoned—she could not keep it about her person, and for a long time it was a matter that caused her much perplexity. All at once her eyes lighted. In her jewel-box, which was quite a large one, there was a raised velvet cushion, with places on it for the different articles of jewelry she was in the habit of wearing. This cushion was securely glued to the bottom of the box. What omen of impending evil could have inspired Editha with the idea that underneath this would be a safe place to hide her evidence?