“What! has she gone away so early as this?” Mrs. Archbold smiled, and said soothingly, “Are you sure she ever existed; except in your imagination?” Alfred laughed at this, and showed her Peggy's letter. She ran her eye over it, and returned it him with a smile of a different kind, half pitying, half cynical. But presently resuming her former manner, “I remember now,” said she in dulcet tones: “the anxiety you are labouring under is about a large sum of money, is it not?” “What, can you give me any information about it?” said he, surprised. “I think we can render you great _service_ in the matter, infinite service, Mr. Hardie,” was the reply, in a voice of very honey. Alfred was amazed at this. “You say you don't know Peggy! And yet you seem to know me. I never saw you in my life before, madam; what on earth is the meaning of all this?” “Calm yourself,” said Mrs. Archbold, laying a white and finely moulded hand upon his arm, “there is no wonder nor mystery in the matter: _you were expected._” The colour rushed into Alfred's face, and he started to his feet; some vague instinct told him to be gone from this place. The lady fixed her eyes on him, put her hand to a gold chain that was round her neck, and drew out of her white bosom, not a locket, nor a key, but an ivory whistle. Keeping her eye steadily fixed on Alfred, she breathed softly into the whistle. Then two men stepped quietly in at the door; one was a short, stout snob, with great red whiskers, the other a wiry gentleman with iron-grey hair. The latter spoke to Alfred, and began to coax him. If Mrs. Archbold was honey, this personage was treacle. “Be calm, my dear young gentleman; don't agitate yourself. You have been sent here for your good; and that you may be cured, and so restored to society and to your anxious and affectionate friends.” “What are you talking about? what do you mean?” cried Alfred; “are you mad?” “No, _we_ are not,” said the short snob, with a coarse laugh. “Have done with this fooling, then,” said Alfred sharply; “the person I came to see is not here; good morning.” The short man instantly stepped to the door, and put his back to it. The other said calmly, “No, Mr. Hardie, you cannot leave the house at present.” “Can't I? Why not, pray?” said Alfred, drawing his breath hard: and his eyes began to glitter dangerously. “We are responsible for your safety: we have force at hand if necessary; pray do not compel us to summon it.” “Why, where am I?” said Alfred, panting now; “is this a prison?” “No, no,” said Mrs. Archbold soothingly: “it is a place where you will be cured of your headaches and your delusions, and subjected to no unnecessary pain nor restraint.” “Oh, bother,” said the short snob brutally. “Why make two bites of a cherry? You are in my asylum, young gentleman, and a devilish lucky thing for you.”