THE DARK HOUSE. That Beryl Corselas was not at Erceldonne Mother Felicitas knew. But that he owned a disused, rat-haunted house in Westmoreland even the superior had almost forgotten. And it had been a very simple business to double on their own track at Blackpool and get off at a desolate little station in Westmoreland. It was pouring rain. Beryl, hurried into a close carriage, had not time to see the whilom convent “boy of all work” was the driver. They drove on endlessly it seemed to the girl. Through the rain she could see nothing but endless, rolling moors. When at last they stopped it was pitch-dark. Dazed and weary Beryl got out and for the first time trembled. A dark house, without a lighted window, stood before them. Erceldonne was unlocking the door with a key from his pocket, and as he swung back the door a close, cold air of emptiness and desolation came out on the girl. What were they going to do with her? How could she avenge Andria here? She fought down the cowardly thought that at least she would have been safe in the convent, and followed Erle into the dark hall. The cold air of it breathed like death and the grave. He struck a match and opened the first door he came to. “Why is it like this?” he said to his father angrily. “Do you want us to die of cold and discomfort? Where is the woman?” But before there was time for an answer a door opened, and against a blaze of light that made her blink Beryl saw the woman who had taken her from the workhouse. “Mrs. Fuller!” she cried. “Yes,” returned the woman slowly, “Mrs. Fuller.” She was not given to pity, but for one weak instant compassion rose in her. The next she swept it away. There was no need to pity the girl. Erle meant to marry her. She drew back as Beryl ran to her. “Your dinner is ready,” she said to Erceldonne. “Such as it is.” Tone and manner were so changed from the Mrs. Fuller she had known that Beryl stood astounded. Then it came to her with an awful sinking of her heart that this woman was in the plot against her, was a part of the mystery she loathed and feared. There would be no help from her. She looked around the room into which Erle led her gently. There was a huge fire, a mean lamp, a table with meat, bread, and wine. Everything else was bare and desolate. She was suddenly conscious that this was her prison, where she might live and die unless she did what they told her. All her fine dreams had come to this. For she knew by the tinned food on the table that the pale woman with golden hair had put it there, and that there was not another soul in the house. She sat down and could not eat--only looked up with a start to see Erle and Mrs. Fuller finish and leave the room. She was alone with the man who called himself Egerton.