The green spires of poplar-trees rose over the summit of this wall, and further back could be seen the red-tiled gable of a house. Opposite the gates on the other side of the dusty white road there was a small cottage buried in a plantation of fir-trees. An untidy garden extended from its front-door to the quickset hedge which divided the grounds from the highway, and the house had a desolate and solitary look, as though rarely inhabited. "Does old Joad still sleep in his cottage?" asked Allen, with a careless glance at the tiny house. "Of course! You know Mr. Edermont won't let anyone stay in the house at night but myself and Meg Gance." "That is the cook?" "Cook, housemaid, general servant, and all the rest of it," replied Dora gaily; "she and I between us manage the domestic affairs of the mansion. Mr. Edermont is too taken up with his library and Mr. Joad to pay attention to such details." "He is always in the clouds," assented Allen, smiling. "By the way, who is Mr. Joad?" Dora laughed and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sure I can't tell you that," she replied carelessly; "he is an old college friend of my guardian's, who gives him house-room." "But not a bed?" "No. Joad has to turn out at nine o'clock every night and return to his cottage. I believe he passes most of his evenings in the company of Mr. Pride." "Pride, Pride?" said Allen thoughtfully--"oh, that is the chubby little man who is so like your guardian." "He is like him in the distance," answered Dora, "but a nearer view dispels the illusion. Pride is, as you say, chubby, while Mr. Edermont is rather lean. But they are both short, both have heads of silvery hair, and both rejoice in patriarchal beards. Yes, they are not unlike one another." While this conversation was taking place the young people were standing patiently before the jealously-closed gate. Dora had rung the bell twice, but as yet there was no sign that they would be admitted. The sun was so hot, the road so dusty, that Allen became impatient. "Haven't you the key of the gate yourself, Dora?" "No. Mr. Edermont won't allow anyone to have the key but himself. I don't know why." "Let us go round to the little postern at the side of the wall," suggested Allen. Dora shook her head with a laugh. "Locked, my dear, locked. Mr. Edermont keeps the postern as firmly closed as these gates." "A most extraordinary man!" retorted Scott, raising his eyebrows. "I wonder what he can be afraid of in this eminently respectable neighbourhood." "I think I can tell you, Allen." "Can you, my dear? Then Mr. Edermont has said why----" "He has said nothing," interrupted Dora, "but I have eyes and ears, my dear Allen. Mr. Edermont is afraid of losing his----" "His money," interrupted Allen in his turn. "Oh yes, of course." "There is no 'of course' in the matter," said Miss Carew sharply; "he is afraid of losing his life." "His life? Dora!"