‘By the way,’ said Lucius thoughtfully, ‘you remember that noise I heard the evening we went up to the loft together?’ ‘I remember your fancy about a noise,’ Lucille answered carelessly. ‘My fancy, then, if you like. I suppose nothing has ever happened since to throw a light upon that fancy of mine?’ ‘Nothing.’ ‘You are quite sure that no stranger could obtain admission to those up-stairs rooms, or to any part of this house?’ ‘Quite sure.’ ‘In that case we may rest assured that all is safe, and you need think no more of anything I have said.’ He tried with every art he knew to soothe away the fears which his imprudent words had occasioned, but could not altogether succeed in tranquillising her, though he brought the Amati violin into requisition, and played some of his sweetest symphonies—melodies which, to quote Mrs. Wincher, ‘might have drawed tears out of a deal board.’ Nothing could dispel the cloud which he had raised; and he left Cedar House full of trouble and self-reproach, beyond measure angry with himself for his folly. CHAPTER II. LUCIUS IS PUZZLED. When Lucius made his early visit—now always the first duty of every day—to Cedar House on the following morning, he found that Lucille had already acted upon his advice. The dressing-room—a slip of a room communicating with Mr. Sivewright’s spacious chamber—had been furnished in a rough-and-ready manner with a chair and table, an old cabinet, brought down from the loft, to hold cups and glasses, medicine bottles, and other oddments; a little row of saucepans, neatly arranged in a cupboard by the small fireplace; and a narrow little iron bedstead in a corner of the room. ‘I shall sleep here at night,’ said Lucille, as Lucius surveyed her preparations, ‘and if I keep that door ajar, I can hear every sound in the next room.’ ‘My darling, it will never do for you to be on the watch at night,’ he answered anxiously. ‘You will wear yourself out in a very short time. Anxiety by day and wakefulness by night will soon tell their tale.’ ‘Let me have my own way, Lucius,’ she pleaded. ‘You say yourself that my grandfather wants no attendance at night. He told me only this morning that he sleeps pretty well, and rarely wakes till the morning. But it will be a satisfaction to me if I feel that I am close at hand, ready to wake at his call. I am a very light sleeper.’ ‘Was Mrs. Wincher angry at your taking the work out of her hands?’