It was a cold splendour. The merry voices of children were lacking in these great halls. Death past and to come infused the air with solemnity and mocked the pomp which yet appeared so much a part of the life here that one could hardly imagine the huge pillared spaces without it. To Violet, more or less accustomed to fine interiors, the chief interest of this one lay in its connection with the mystery then occupying her. Stopping for a moment on the stair, she inquired of Mrs. Quintard if the loss she so deplored had been made known to the servants, and was much relieved to find that, with the exception of Mr. Delahunt, she had not spoken of it to any one but Clement. “And he will never mention it,” she declared, “not even to his wife. She has troubles enough to bear without knowing how near she stood to a fortune.” “Oh, she will have her fortune!” Violet confidently replied. “In time, the lawyer who drew up the will will appear. But what you want is an immediate triumph over the cold Carlos, and I hope you may have it. Ah!” This expletive was a sigh of sheer surprise. Mrs. Quintard had unlocked the library door and Violet had been given her first glimpse of this, the finest room in New York. She remembered now that she had often heard it so characterized, and, indeed, had it been taken bodily from some historic abbey of the old world, it could not have expressed more fully, in structure and ornamentation, the Gothic idea at its best. All that it lacked were the associations of vanished centuries, and these, in a measure, were supplied to the imagination by the studied mellowness of its tints and the suggestion of age in its carvings. So much for the room itself, which was but a shell for holding the great treasure of valuable books ranged along every shelf. As Violet’s eyes sped over their ranks and thence to the five windows of deeply stained glass which faced her from the southern end, Mrs. Quintard indignantly exclaimed: “And Carlos would turn this into a billiard room!” “I do not like Carlos,” Violet returned hotly; then remembering herself, hastened to ask whether Mrs. Quintard was quite positive as to this room being the one in which she had hidden the precious document. “You had better talk to Hetty,” said that lady, as a stout woman of most prepossessing appearance entered their presence and paused respectfully just inside the doorway. “Hetty, you will answer any questions this young lady may put. If anyone can help us, she can. But first, what news from the sick-room?” “Nothing good. The doctor has just come for the third time today. Mrs. Brooks is crying and even the children are dumb with fear.” “I will go. I must see the doctor. I must tell him to keep Clement alive by any means till--” She did not wait to say what; but Violet understood and felt her heart grow heavy. Could it be that her employer considered this the gay and easy task she had asked for? The next minute she was putting her first question: