Meanwhile Aline and Audry made their way along the passage. It was daylight so they felt that their light would not be seen. When they got to the end they could hear perfectly and even see a little bit through a tiny crack. They saw Edward, the seneschal, come in and take out the great salt and the nef and then he carefully fastened the door. After a while he came back and fetched some of the other things. When the children returned to Ian, they both exclaimed,--“Oh, you are looking so much better.” For a moment he did not speak; he was watching Aline as she unconsciously glided down the room with a sort of dancing step, humming a tune and slowly waving her arms. She seemed filled with a new sacredness, a new unapproachable otherworldliness; it was an apotheosis of childhood. “Well, you have come back to me,” he said at length. “What did you discover?” “Not a great deal,” Aline answered, “but we can see through a chink and we may some day see the thief himself.” “I am afraid that we shall never catch him,” said Audry, “and what is the use of troubling about it? The thing is gone now and what is done is done.” “No, it might come back,” protested Aline, “and I shall not give up hope yet awhile. Come along, you have got to finish that piece of tapestry and it’s no use saying what is done is done, because what is done is no use, unless you do some more.” Both laughed and ran out. They worked at the tapestry in the solar. Mistress Mowbray was there engaged in the same occupation. By and by her husband came in. “I suppose you have found out nothing about that cup,” she remarked. “No,” said Master Richard, “and meseemeth I am not likely to do so. Edward is confident that it cannot have been taken from the treasury.” “Humph! He may say so. Look you now, Richard, if I were you I should get rid of Edward. Turn him out of doors.” “Do you think that Edward has taken it?” said her husband, looking surprised. “Why, who else could have taken it? It’s as clear as daylight. I cannot see wherefore you hesitate.” Richard Mowbray gazed steadily in front of him for a long time, stroking his pointed beard. “Yes, I think it must be so; I shall do as you suggest. Edward shall leave.” “I am sure Edward did not do it,” said Audry impulsively. “Nonsense, wench,” said her father, “what do you know about it?” “Oh, well, it has nothing to do with me, but it’s hard on the old man if he did not do it,” Audry replied. “Come along, Aline; I’m tired of this tapestry; we’ve done enough. I want you to read to me. May we go, mother?” “Yes, yes, run away, both of you”; and, lest Audry’s remark should have had any effect, she added, to her husband;--“It will be an excellent plan in many ways. Edward is getting past his work in any case. I shall be very glad to have some one else.” “Certainly, Eleanor, it shall be as you wish.”