"There is more money thrown to the dogs," muttered Bruce. "No; Vibert has shown more consideration for my purse than usual," said Mr. Trevor. "He has made no call upon it for this little expedition to London." Bruce looked steadfastly into the face of his father for several seconds, but not in order to read anything there. The young man's mind was busy with its own thoughts; a slight smile came over his lips,--the smile of one who has detected a little plot, and knows how to foil it. With an inaudible "I smell a rat," Bruce turned and walked up to the window. "Vibert need no money to carry him to London! As well might we believe that the train in which he travels requires no steam," thought Bruce to himself. "I happen to know that his purse was empty yesterday morning. My belief is that Vibert is in this house at this moment, or at any rate not further off than S----. He has some silly practical joke in his head connected with the haunted chamber, and means to throw me off my guard by a feigned absence in London. What folly possessed me to tell a wild hare-brain like Vibert of the little door in the panel? But it is no matter; whatever frantic freak he may have in his head, he at least shall find me prepared." Emmie came down to morning prayers looking very pale, and with the violet tints under her languid eyes, which were tokens of her having passed a sleepless night. She presided as usual at the breakfast-table, but in a dreamy, listless manner, herself scarcely touching the viands. It was evidently an effort to the poor girl to join in the conversation, which her father purposely led to such topics as he thought might interest his daughter. Mr. Trevor talked of literature and arts, recounted amusing passages from his own history, and did his best to divert Emmie's mind, but with little apparent effect. Her eyes were constantly turned towards her brother with an anxious, questioning look, until, the morning meal being concluded, Mr. Trevor, perplexed and disappointed, left the room to speak to his steward. Emmie then went up to Bruce, who was about to start on his daily walk to his tutor's. "Bruce, dearest, you look ill," said Emmie, laying a tremulous hand on the arm of her brother. "I might say the same to you, if it were not treason to utter anything so uncomplimentary to a fair lady," observed Bruce. "Why do you look ill? Has--has anything painful occurred?" asked Emmie, in a hurried, nervous manner. "I must act echo again," answered Bruce. "Tell me, oh, tell me what has happened," urged his sister, who was not in the slightest degree disposed to enter into a jest. "Nothing has happened, dear Emmie," replied Bruce more gravely. "I have had a little headache these one or two days; it is of no consequence. You have not the least occasion to look so miserably anxious as far as I am concerned."