"I may as well assure you that parleying is useless. I have known, from the first moment you entered this house, just upon what terms you stood with Mrs. Arthur. Don't trouble yourself to ask how I know. Perhaps you have been puzzled to know why Mrs. Arthur and her brother so suddenly became cordial and invited you to Oakley, where you so much desired to be. Let me enlighten you. They fancied that you had regained possession of important documents--two marriage certificates, in fact--for they had lost them." "What?" ejaculated Percy. "And--I found them," added Madeline. His countenance fell again. "They are in my possession," pursued she. "Shall I show them to Miss Arthur, or not?" "It can't make much difference now," said the man, sullenly. "Let us understand each other fully," said Madeline. "I am not acting in concert with Cora Arthur. She is even more in my power than you are. I have no desire to undeceive Miss Arthur. Neither do I wish you to leave Oakley. On the contrary, I want you here; you can be of service to me, by and by. And I pledge you my word that so long as you remain under this roof, those papers shall not be used against you." "And if I don't choose to remain?" Madeline laughed. "Then you must take the consequences," she said, carelessly. "And what will they be?" "Exposure and arrest." Percy drew pen, ink, and paper toward him. "What shall I write to the clergyman?" he asked, sullenly. "Whatever you choose. And I will send it. Make your peace with Miss Arthur, too, in your own way." "And when I leave Oakley, what then?" he grunted. "Then, if you have fulfilled the conditions, I will burn the papers in your presence, and you are free henceforth." "There is the note," he said, flinging it toward her as soon as written. "After all, I may as well be in your power as in hers," and again he arose to go from the room. "I am glad you take so sensible a view of it," retorted she, looking up from her perusal of his note. "Good-night, Mr. Percy." And thus cavalierly dismissed, Mr. Percy bowed, somewhat less gallantly than when entering, and left the room. "So, that is nipped in the bud," soliloquized Madeline, as she went wearily to her own room once more. "When will this miserable complication unravel itself, or be unraveled?" Little did she dream how soon she would receive an answer to this question. CHAPTER XLVII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END. The next morning dawned clear and beautiful. Over head, one unbroken expanse of blue; under foot, a mantle of soft, white ermine. All the trees were transformed into fairy-like, silver-robed, pearl-studded, plume-adorned wonders. Diamonds floated in the air, and sunbeams lighted up the whole with dazzling brilliancy. Everything was white, pure, wonderful, and the whole enclosed in a monster chrysolite; earth, air, and sky, were shut within a radiant sphere that had never an outlet.