"Not Sanker," I said. Sanker stayed on the lawn with his book. We had all been on the lawn for the last half-hour: he, us, Hugh, Lena, and the magpie. But not a suspicious character of any sort had we seen about the place. "Sanker's fond of reading on the lawn," remarked Mr. Todhetley, in a careless tone. But he got no answer: we had been struck into silence. He took one hand out of his pocket, and drummed on the table, not looking at either of us. Tod had laid hold of a piece of blotting-paper and was pulling it to pieces. I wondered what they were thinking of: I know what I was. "At any rate, the first thing is to find the ring; _that_ only went this morning," said the Squire, as he left us. Tod sat on where he was, dropping the bits of paper. "I say, Tod, do you think it _could_ be----?" "Hold your tongue, Johnny!" he shouted. "No, I don't think it. The bank-note--light, flimsy thing--must have been lost in the yard, and the ring will turn up. It's somewhere on the floor here." In five minutes the news had spread. Mr. Todhetley had told his wife, and summoned the servants to the search. Both losses were made known; consternation fell on the household; the women-servants searched the room; old Thomas bent his back double over the frame outside the glass-doors. But there was no ring. "This is just like the mysterious losses we had at school," exclaimed Sanker, as a lot of us were standing in the hall. "Yes, _it is_," said the Squire. "Perhaps, sir, your ring is in a corner of some odd pocket?" went on Sanker. "Perhaps it may be," answered the Squire, rather emphatically; "but not in mine." Happening to look at Mrs. Todhetley, I saw her face had turned to a white fright. Whether the remark of Sanker or the peculiarity of the Squire's manner brought to her mind the strange coincidence of the losses, here and at school, certain it was the doubt had dawned upon her. Later, when I and Tod were hunting in the room on our own account, she came to us with her terror-stricken face. "Joseph, I see what you are thinking," she said; "but it can't be; it can't be. If the Sankers are poor, they are honest. I wish you knew his father and mother." "I have not accused any one, Mrs. Todhetley." "No; neither has your father; but you suspect." "Perhaps we had better not talk of it," said Tod. "Joseph, I think we must talk of it, and see what can be done. If--if he should have done such a thing, of course he cannot stay here." "But we don't know that he has, therefore he ought not to be accused of it." "Oh! Joseph, don't you see the pain? None of you can feel this as I do. He is my relative." I felt so sorry for her. With the trouble in her pale, mild eyes, and the quivering of her thin, meek lips. It was quite evident that _she_ feared the worst: and Tod threw away concealment with his step-mother.