His tone forbade denial. Zillah said not a word. Slowly she drew from her pocket those papers, heavy with fate, and, with a trembling hand, she gave them to the Earl. Scarcely had she done so than she repented. But it was too late. Beside, of what avail would it have been to have kept them? She herself had begun this conversation; she herself had sought for a revelation of this mystery. The end must come, whatever it might be. "Oh, father!" she moaned, imploringly. "What is it?" asked the Earl. "You knew my dear papa all his life, did you not, from his boyhood?" "Yes," said the Earl, mechanically, looking at the papers which Zillah had placed in his hand; "yes--from boyhood." "And you loved and honored him?" "Yes." "Was there ever a time in which you lost sight of one another, or did not know all about one another?" "Certainly. For twenty years we lost sight of one another completely. Why do you ask?" "Did he ever live in London?" asked Zillah, despairingly. "Yes," said the Earl; "he lived there for two years, and I scarcely ever saw him. I was in politics; he was in the army. I was busy every moment of my time; he had all that leisure which officers enjoy, and leading the life of gayety peculiar to them. But why do you ask? What connection has all this with the papers?" Zillah murmured some inaudible words, and then sat watching the Earl as he began to examine the papers, with a face on which there were visible a thousand contending emotions. The Earl looked over the papers. There was the cipher and the key; and there was also a paper written out by Zillah, containing the explanation of the cipher, according to the key. On the paper which contained the key was a written statement to the effect that two-thirds of the letters had no meaning. Trusting to this, Zillah had written out her translation of the cipher, just as Hilda had before done. The Earl read the translation through most carefully. "What's this?" he exclaimed, in deeper agitation. Zillah made no reply. In fact, at that moment her heart was throbbing so furiously that she could not have spoken a word. Now had come the crisis of her fate, and her heart, by a certain deep instinct, told her this. Beneath all the agitation arising from the change in the Earl there was something more profound, more dread. It was a continuation of that dark foreboding which she had felt at Pomeroy Court--a certain fearful looking for of some obscure and shadowy calamity.