There is but one thing more that I must accomplish, and that must be done to-night, if possible. If I succeed in this, two days more will see me _en route_ for the city. If I fail--then I must remain here, if I can, and try again. In any case, I must make my new move within the week. So look out for the chrysalis; it remains for you to develop it into the butterfly. This letter chanced to arrive during one of Doctor Vaughan's afternoon visits, and Olive read it aloud to him, saying at the end, and almost without taking breath, "Something she must accomplish first. If she has secured the medicines, and they are safe not to run away in her absence, then what is it she means?" Clarence shook his head, saying: "I have no idea. She speaks as if the thing, whatever it is, was attended with some risk." "And this explains Henry's absence," Olive said, tapping the letter in her lap. "No doubt he was summoned without any previous warning. Of course, he is a mere tool for his master. They will hardly dare let him see their game." "Hardly; but if they were not using him to Madeline's satisfaction, she would have revealed herself to him." "True." "We are approaching a crisis now. If this new movement fails,--but I hardly think it will." Olive looked up in alarm. "Oh, don't suggest failure," she exclaimed. "She _must_ succeed. What will become of poor Philip if she does not?" Clarence lifted his face reverently. "I believe that the Power above us, who permits evil to be because only from pain and sorrow comes purification, has not permitted the life of this beautiful young girl to be darkened in vain. Out of her wrongs, and her sorrows, and her humiliation, He will allow her own hands to shape not only a strong, true, earnest womanhood for herself, but the weapons which shall deliver the innocent, and bring the guilty to justice." And Olive felt comforted, and her hope took new wings. CHAPTER XXXI. MR. PERCY SHAKES HIMSELF. It was noontide at Oakley, and a December sun was shining coldly in at the window of Mrs. Cora Arthur's dressing-room. Within that cozy room, however, all was warmth and brightness. A cheerful fire was blazing and crackling in the grate. Sitting before the fire, wrapped in a becoming dressing-gown of white cashmere, was Cora herself, looking a trifle annoyed, but remarkably well withal. Wonderfully well, considering how very ill she had been. Lounging near her, his feet lazily outstretched toward the fire, was Lucian Davlin. "What did you write to Percy?" he inquired, consulting his watch. "Just what you told me; that I had something of importance to communicate, and desired him to call to-day at two," replied Cora. "But--aren't you looking a little too well for a lady who has been so desperately ill? It won't do to arouse his suspicions, you know."