Mr. Hillary had visited his daughter’s room very early upon the morning after the terrible confidence between them, and had impressed upon her the necessity of suppressing every evidence of the knowledge that had come to her. “I have been compelled to trust you, Maude,” he said; “and you must prove yourself worthy of my confidence. Heaven only knows how difficult it has been for me to keep the secrets of my business during three years of reverses and misfortunes such as rarely fall to the lot of a speculator. My only chance of floating over this crisis lies in the meeting with some friend who will lend me the money I want, without looking too closely into the nature of the security I have to offer. But let the state of my affairs once get wind, and all hope of retrieval would be lost. Remember this, Maude: and, if you love me, show a bright face to the world; and above all, beware of Julia Desmond. That young lady is a dangerous person, my dear; and the day may come when we shall have reason to regret having given a shelter to old Desmond’s destitute child.” “But Julia is a dear good girl, papa; she would be very sorry for us, I am sure,” Maude pleaded, innocently. “Julia has contrived to feather her own nest so remarkably well, that she would be very indifferent to any calamity that could come to her friends,” answered the practical man of the world, who had been by no means pleased with Miss Desmond since that young lady’s conquest of Francis Tredethlyn. Maude kissed her father,--ah, how passionately! She clung to him, as she remembered that long feverish dream of the previous night, and the glittering something lying in the drawer; she kissed him, and promised that his secrets should be guarded more carefully than her own life. “And the miracle _may_ be accomplished between this and the tenth of January, papa,” she said. And then, as Lionel Hillary was about to leave his daughter’s room, she placed herself suddenly between him and the door, and turned the key in the lock. He looked at her, surprised and perplexed. “Maude!” “Dearest father, you have trusted me, and you have exacted a promise from me,” said Miss Hillary, with a quiet calmness that was more impressive than any vehemence of manner; “and now I want you to give me a promise, a very solemn promise, my own dear father.” She put her hand upon his shoulder and kissed him once more, clinging to him fondly, looking tenderly upward to his pale careworn face. Then she took a bunch of keys from her pocket and held them out before him.