“No, dear, it isn’t; there is more to come. Little Roserl came crying through the hall an hour ago, and I asked what the trouble was. She showed me a prettily-bound prayer-book which she had taken from the Pole’s room to play with, and had been ordered by her mother to carry back. I looked into it; no name, but the same coat-of-arms as the glove and the handkerchief. To-night as he played I examined his hands; they are peculiar, and some of the peculiarities have left traces on the glove. I am sure it is he, for on looking back many things confirm the idea. He says he is a _polisson_, a rogue, fond of jokes, and clever at playing them. The Germans are famous for masquerading and practical jokes; this is one, I am sure, and uncle will be terribly angry if he discovers it.” “But why all this concealment?” cried Amy. “Why play jokes on us? You look so worried I know you have not told me all you know or fear.” “I confess I do fear that these men are political plotters as well as exiles. There are many such, and they make tools of rich and ignorant foreigners to further their ends. Uncle is rich, generous, and unsuspicious; and I fear that while apparently serving and enjoying us they are using him.” “Heavens, it may be! and that would account for the change we see in him. I thought he was in love with the widow, but that may be only a cloak to hide darker designs. Karl brought us here, and I dare say it is a den of conspirators!” cried Amy, feeling as if she were getting more of an adventure than she had bargained for. “Don’t be alarmed! I am on the watch, and mean to demand an explanation from uncle, or take you away on my own responsibility, if I can.” Here a maid tapped to say that tea was served. “We must go down, or some one will suspect trouble. Plead headache to excuse your paleness, and I’ll keep people away. We will manage the affair and be off as soon as possible,” said Helen, as Amy followed her, too bewildered to answer. Casimer was not in the room, the major and Mrs. Cumberland were sipping tea side by side, and the professors roaming vaguely about. To leave Amy in peace, Helen engaged them both in a lively chat, and her cousin sat by the window trying to collect her thoughts. Some one was pacing up and down the garden, hatless, in the dew. Amy forgot everything but the danger of such exposure to her reckless friend. His cloak and hat lay on a chair; she caught them up and glided unperceived from the long window. “You are so imprudent I fear for you, and bring your things,” said a timid voice, as the little white figure approached the tall black one, striding down the path tempestuously. “You to think of me, forgetful of yourself! Little angel of kindness, why do you take such care of me?” cried Casimer, eagerly taking not only the cloak, but the hands that held it.