Slowly lifting the lid of the box, which had been resting on her lap unopened, she saw a sealed note there, lying uppermost, above the netting paraphernalia. It was addressed to herself, in Verena's handwriting. Coralie opened it with her usual deliberation. "DEAR CORALIE, "As I find you and papa intend to keep me a prisoner, and as I do not choose to be kept a prisoner, and do not think you have any right to exercise this harsh control over me, I am leaving home for a few days. Tell papa that I shall be perfectly safe and well taken care of, even if I could not take care of myself--which I _can_, as you must know. "Ever yours, "VERA." Coralie laughed just a little. It seemed as if nothing ever put her out: she did know that Verena could, as the note phrased it, take care of herself. She went up to her father, who was standing by the fire talking with the Squire and Tanerton. Sir Dace, fresh from a hot country, was always chilly, as I have said before, and kept up a big fire whether it was warm or cold. "Papa, here is a note from Verena. I have just found it in my work-box. Would you like to see what she says?" Sir Dace put his coffee-cup on the mantelpiece, and took the note from Coralie. I never saw any expression like that of his face as he read. I never saw any face go so _darkly_ white. Evidently he did not take the news in the same light way that Coralie did. A cry broke from him. Staggering back against the shelf, he upset a vase that stood at the corner. A beautiful vase of Worcester china, with a ground of delicate gilt tracery, and a deliciously-painted landscape standing out from it. It was not at the vase, lying in pieces on the fender, we looked, but at Sir Dace. His face was contorted; his eyes were rolling. Tanerton, ever ready, caught his arm. "Help me to find her, my friends!" he gasped, when the threatened fit had passed. "Help me this night to find my daughter! As sure as we are living, that base man will marry her to-morrow, if we do not, and then it will be too late." "Goodness bless me, yes!" cried the Squire, brushing his hair the wrong way, his good old red face all excitement, "Let us start at once! Johnny, you come with me. Where can we go first?" That was the question for them all--where to go? London was a large place; and to set out to look for a young lady in it, not knowing where to look, was as bad as looking for the needle in the bottle of hay. "She may be at that villain's place," panted Sir Dace, whose breath seemed to be all wrong. "Where does he live? You know, I suppose," appealing to Jack. "No, I don't," said Jack. "But I can find out. I dare say it is in Ship Street. Most of----" "Where is Ship Street?" interrupted the Squire, looking more helpless than a lunatic.