Again the old woman laughed the mirthless, rattling laugh of old age, and this time James Carewe raised his head from his arms, exchanged a glance with her, and turned over on his side again to face the fire, with the nearest approach to a laugh he ever made. Their incomprehensible merriment annoyed Stephen greatly, and he muttered an oath or two under his breath as he watched them. “_Chee, chee_, lad!” remonstrated the crone. “You will laugh too when we’ve done the trick, and spirited the girl away, and hocused her father and her bridegroom. Your part of the business now is, first, to carry her a letter I mean to write her; and next, to make believe you’ve fallen in love with one of them two women as spy upon her. Have you got paper and pencil about you?” Stephen took from his pocket a thick leather-covered account-book, and, tearing out a sheet, handed it to her. “Not me!” she returned, shaking her head. “I leave all that to boys like you. Write down what I say: ‘From Sarah Carewe to Stella Cranstoun--The Romanys have not forgotten. Pretend to agree to the marriage, so that the watch may be relaxed. On your wedding-eve help will come. Hope and trust. Your mother’s friends watch over you, and soon you will be free.’ And now,” old Sarah added, “you must contrive that this shall be given her. Hang about until you see Margaret. She’s timid, but she’s square. If Stella plays her part, and cods them into thinking she’s come round, we’ll cheat the gray wolf yet, and within a month--ay, less than that, Jim, my boy--you and me will have a laugh, a right good laugh together, and even Steve here can join in then!” Thoroughly mystified, but accustomed from childhood to unquestioningly obey the orders of old Sarah, whose reputation for abnormal sagacity, together with her undoubted magnetic powers, had earned her a great reputation among her own class, as well as among credulous and open-handed members of the public, Stephen presently left the ruins and returned to the Chase. Joining the other servants at supper that night, and listening to their talk about the coming marriage, he contrived by a look to signify to Margaret that he had something to say to her. Greatly surprised, but ready-witted as women of all classes usually prove in an emergency, she presently, as she sat next to him at table, contrived to knock her supper-plate off on to the floor with a great clatter. Down went her head under the table, and down went Stephen’s. The result was a collision, and under cover of the laughter which ensued, she felt him slip a tiny piece of folded paper into her hand, and heard him whisper: “For the mistress.” CHAPTER XV. THE WEDDING EVE. Housekeeper Margaret was a quiet, reserved, and cautious woman with the caution bred of extreme nervousness and dread of being bullied.