“Dear me! I am afraid I frightened you just now when I came in. I was so astonished myself to find any one in this forsaken corner, that in the dusk my imagination ran away with me, and I thought--well, I don’t know exactly what I thought--but I certainly had no idea it was your ladyship who sprung up suddenly like a fairy in the darkness.” “Didn’t you?” said Lady Marion, who was recovering her self-command, and had decided to come to an understanding with him at once. “I never knew that there was anything in this little recess until to-day, when I saw you come out of it to join my sister. I have read this letter--or rather the first two pages of it--and now I want you to give me the third, if you please.” There was now no mistaking the malevolence in Goodhare’s eyes as he answered: “Unfortunately I haven’t got it,” he said in the humblest and most deprecatory of tones. “Like a serial story, it breaks off just when one is mad for it to go on. But we must hunt and search and ransack until we find it.” “And supposing, Mr. Goodhare,” suggested Lady Marion, whose temper was rising, “that you ransack first in your own pocket.” For a moment he was taken aback. The next, he smilingly turned out the contents of his coat pockets. Whether he had already stowed away the missing leaf in a safe place, or whether by some skilful sleight of hand he concealed it about his own person before her eyes, it is certain that he pulled out the lining of the very pocket into which he had so hastily thrust it, but the paper had disappeared. “I don’t know what can have made you think I had the rest of your letter, your ladyship,” he said with dignity and a shade of contempt. “Any documents found in this house are the property of your family, and I hope you would scarcely accuse me of taking what is not mine. A lady’s caprices must be gratified, and so I have done my best to gratify yours. At the same time I believe you will agree on reflection, that I should not be too exacting if I expected an apology.” “I do apologise, Mr. Goodhare,” said Lady Marion drily. “You are so much cleverer than I thought, that I can’t think of taking up any more of your time in making notes for my poor work.” And she gave him a little stiff bow as she went out. The librarian made no answer, but a murmur of most deeply respectful apology and regret; when she had gone, however, his face puckered up with a look of malice, followed by one of anxiety. “He would hardly dare--hardly dare, to dismiss me, I should think; and, even if he does, perhaps it may not matter now.” Again the grave, reserved face lighted up with an almost indescribable expression, in which fierce passions of hunger and yearning seemed to burst the bonds of long-continued repression and to shine forth out of a demon’s eyes.