‘Not about the old gentleman, I hope?’ ‘Well, partly on his account, and partly upon other grounds. I have an idea that this house is not quite so safe as it might be.’ ‘Lord bless you, sir, not safe, when I bolts every blessed door, and puts up every blessed bar, just as if it was chock full of state prisoners! And what is there for any one to steal except the bricklebrack, and nobody in these parts would know the vally o’ that. I’m sure I’ve lived among it five-and-twenty year myself, and can’t see no use in it, nor no beauty in it neither. Depend upon it, nobody would ever come arter bricklebrack.’ ‘I don’t know, Mrs. Wincher,’ answered Lucius; ‘people will come after anything, as long as it’s worth money.’ ‘Let ’em come, then,’ exclaimed the matron contemptuously; ‘I give ’em leave to get into this house after dark if they can.’ ‘How if some one were to be obliging, though, and let them in?’ ‘Who is there to do that, unless it was me or my good gentleman,’ cried Mrs. Wincher, blushing indignantly through the blacklead, ‘and I suppose you’re not going to suspect us, Dr. Davory, after five-and-twenty years’ faithful service? Let any one in, indeed, to make away with the bricklebrack! Why, my good gentleman would fret hisself to fiddle-strings if he was to crack a tea-cup.’ Indignation lent shrillness to the voice of Mrs. Wincher, and this conversation, which took place in the hall, made itself audible in the parlour. The door was opened quickly, and Lucille appeared on the threshold, very pale, and with that troubled look in her face which Lucius had seen at parting with her the night before. ‘What is the matter?’ she asked anxiously, ‘what are you talking so loud about, Wincher?’ She took Lucius’s offered hand absently, hardly looking at him, and evidently disturbed by some apprehension of evil. ‘Nothink pertiklar, Miss Lucille,’ replied Mrs. Wincher, tossing her head; ‘only I’m not a stone, and when people throws out their insinuventions at me I feels it. As if me or my good gentleman was capable of making away with the bricklebrack.’ ‘What do you mean, Wincher?’ ‘Ask him,’ said Mrs. Wincher, pointing to Lucius; ‘I suppose he knows what he means hisself, but I’m sure I don’t;’ with which remark the matron withdrew to the back premises to resume her blacklead brush. ‘What have you been saying to offend Mrs. Wincher, Lucius?’ asked Lucille. ‘Not much, dearest, but if you’ll listen to me for a few minutes I’ll endeavour to explain.’ He followed her into the parlour and shut the door. ‘Why, Lucille,’ he said, drawing her towards the window, and looking at the pale thoughtful face, ‘how ill you look!’ ‘I am anxious about my grandfather,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Never mind my looks, Lucius; only contrive to cure him, and I daresay I shall soon be quite well again.’