"My dear Mr Salis," said the old man, "if I am not wrong in my ideas, that sweet-faced lady in the next room will slowly and patiently repay our poor friend for unknowingly restoring her to a life of activity. She will bring him back to calm reason." "You think this?" said Salis hoarsely. "Indeed I do. His long and lucid statement to me shows that in every point but one he was as sane as you or I. He had one little crotchet, due to the overstrain, and that will, I feel sure, with a little help, soon disappear. Mr Salis, take my word for it, you may be perfectly at rest." "Good heavens!" cried Salis, springing to his feet, for at that moment a wild shriek resounded through the house, followed by a heavy fall in the room above. Volume 3, Chapter XXII. MISSING THE MAIL TRAIN. Ten o'clock had just struck, and the old tower was still vibrating, when Dally Watlock's bedroom door was softly opened, and the little lady, clad in her tightly-fitting jacket and natty hat, came softly out, to stand upon the landing listening. The lamp was burning on the hall table, and it sent up a faint yellow glow which shone strangely upon the girl's face, as she stood listening to the murmur of voices proceeding from the curate's study, and she could just make out a faint line of light coming from beneath the drawing-room door. Dally went slowly and softly across the landing till she reached Leo's door, where she paused to listen; but all was perfectly still, and stealing one gloved hand to the latch, she tried the door cautiously, but it did not yield, and though she tapped twice there was no response. Dally drew her breath softly between her teeth, and uttered a low, vicious little laugh. "Good night, dear," she said softly; "it'll be ten o'clock to-morrow when you wake, and then--we shall see!" One of the stairs gave a loud warning creak as she stopped, bag in hand, holding on by the balustrade, and ready, rat-like, to dart back to her room should any one open the study door. But the murmur of voices still went on, and Dally stole down the rest of the way to reach the hall, creep softly to a swing-door, and pass through into the neatly-kept kitchen, where a fire still glowed and a kettle sang its own particular song. Dally closed the kitchen door after her, darted across the broad patch of warm light cast by the fire into the darkness of a scullery beyond, and closed a door after her to stand thinking. "Craven Street, Strand," she muttered. "Ten miles to King's Hampton. Ten o'clock to half-past one; I can do it easy, and at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, my dear, we shall see!" She said these words with a vicious little hiss, and the next minute two well-oiled bolts were shot, the key was turned, the door opened with a sharp crack, and then there was a rustle as Dally passed through, closed the door with a light click of the latch, and stood in the semi-darkness of a soft starlight night.