"I have heard enough," she said. "I do not wish to hear one word more." The robbery created a great sensation; inspectors came from Audleigh Royal, and a detective from Scotland Yard, but no one could throw the least light upon the subject. The notes could not be traced; they had been paid in from different sources, and no one had kept a list of the numbers. Even the detective seemed puzzled. Sir Oswald had locked up the notes in the box at night, he had kept the keys in his own possession, and he had found in the morning that the box was still locked and the notes were gone. It was a nine days' wonder. Captain Langton gave all the help he could, but as all search seemed useless and hopeless, it was abandoned after a time, and at the end of the week Captain Langton was summoned to London, and all hope of solving the mystery was relinquished. CHAPTER XXII. FULFILLING THE CONTRACT. The preparations for the wedding went on with great activity; the rooms prepared for the bride were a marvel of luxury and beauty. There was a boudoir with rose-silk and white-lace hangings, adorned with most exquisite pictures and statues, with rarest flowers and most beautiful ornaments--a little fairy nook, over which every one went into raptures except Pauline; she never even looked at the alterations, she never mentioned them nor showed the least interest in them. She went on in her cold, proud, self-contained manner, hiding many thoughts in her heart. "Miss Hastings," she said, one morning, "you can do me a favor. Sir Oswald has been saying that we must call at the Elms to see Lady Hampton and Miss Rocheford. I should refuse, but that the request exactly suits my plans. I wish to see Miss Rocheford; we will drive over this afternoon. Will you engage Lady Hampton in conversation while I talk to her niece?" "I will do anything you wish, Pauline," returned Miss Hastings; "but, my dear child, be prudent. I am frightened for you--be prudent. It will be worse than useless for you to make an enemy of the future Lady Darrell. I would do anything to help you, anything to shield you from sorrow or harm, but I am frightened on your account." Caresses and demonstrations of affection were very rare with Pauline; but now she bent down with a softened face and kissed the anxious brow. "You are very good to me," she said. "You are the only one in the wide world who cares for me." And with the words there came to her such a sense of loneliness and desolation as no language could describe. Of what use had been her beauty, of which her poor father had been so proud--of what avail the genius with which she was so richly dowered? No one loved her. The only creature living who seemed to enter into either her joys or her sorrows was the kind-hearted, gentle governess.