"My dear John! How you startled me! A--a--little surprise for you, my dear fellow. Such a shocking condition as your papers were in. I thought--a kindness--to bring a little order out of chaos; he! he! ahem! my throat is troublesome to-night. A warm drink! Yes, my dear John, I remembered the old passage, you see. I said, why should I disturb the dear fellow, to ask him for the key to the outer door? And really, John, these papers are too--too bad!" She shook her head in a manner that was meant to be playful; but suddenly the smile dropped from her face like a mask; for Mr. Montfort did a singular thing. He bent his head forward slightly; fixed his eyes on his cousin with a peculiar expression, and advanced slowly, one step. "Sophronia!" he said. Miss Sophronia began to tremble. "Don't, John!" she cried. "John Montfort, don't do it! I am your own cousin. Your father and mine were brothers, John. I hope I know my duty--ah, don't! I will not, John Montfort!" Margaret looked from one to the other in blank amazement. The lady seemed in the extremity of terror. Her uncle--was this her uncle? Instead of the grave, dignified gentleman, she seemed to see a boy; a boy intent on mischief, every motion of him alive with power and malice. Step by step he advanced, his hands clenched, his head bent forward, his eyes still fixed, bright and strong, on his cousin. "Sophronia!" he said, "I am coming! Sophronia! Sophronia! Sophronia!" Each time he quickened voice and step. He was almost upon her; with one wild shriek Miss Sophronia turned and fled. Her skirts whisked along the secret passage; they heard the door bang. She was gone. Mr. Montfort sat down in his study chair and laughed long and silently. "Don't look so frightened, my dear!" he said, at last. "It was a scurvy trick, but she deserved it. I--I used to run Sophronia up-stairs, Margaret, when she was a troublesome girl. It always frightened her. I'd have done it in another minute, if she had not run, but I knew she would. Poor Sophronia! I suppose something of the boy stays in us, my dear, as long as we live. I--I am afraid I should rather have enjoyed running Sophronia up-stairs." CHAPTER VII. THE DAUNTLESS THREE.