They were growing uneasy at the castle. There was a forced cheerfulness about the small party that testified to the nervous tension that held them. For some years now there had been a tacit understanding on the subject of punctuality. Such a thing was necessary when any moment might precipitate the next catastrophe. The mere fact of anybody being late for five minutes sufficed to put the rest in a fever. And Geoffrey had not come in to tea at all. The thing was almost in itself a tragedy. Geoffrey was always so considerate of others. Nothing in the world would have induced him to stay away without first saying he was going to do so or sending a message. And tea had been a thing of the past for a good hour. What could have become of him? Nobody asked the question, but it was uppermost in the minds of all. Vera was chattering with feverish gayety, but there was a blazing red spot on her ghastly white face, and her eyes were wild and restless. Marion had slipped away. The only one who betrayed no anxiety was Ralph. He sat sipping his chilled tea as if he had the world to himself and there was nobody else in it. Presently, with one excuse or another, all slipped away until Vera was alone with Ralph. He was so quiet that she had almost forgotten his presence. When she thought herself alone she rose to her feet and paced the room rapidly. She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples. "God spare him," she whispered, "spare him to me! Oh, it is wicked to feel like this and so utterly selfish. But if Geoffrey dies I have nothing to live for." The tears rose to her eyes, tears of agony and reproach and self-pity. Ralph crossed the room silently. He was upon the girl ere she had heard the soft fall of his footsteps. He laid a hand on Vera's arm. "Geoffrey is not going to die," he said. Vera suppressed a scream. She might have cried out, but something in the expression of Ralph's face restrained her. "Are you sure of that?" she asked. "As sure as one can be certain of anything, child. We are alone?" "There is nobody else here, uncle." "One cannot be too careful," Ralph muttered. "Then Geoffrey is safe." "Thank Heaven. You have sent him somewhere, uncle?" "No, I have not sent him anywhere. And you are not to ask any questions. I have told you so much to spare you the agony and suspense that will overtake the others. I tell you because had you not known, the mental strain might have broken you down," continued Ralph. "Before long it will be proved almost beyond a demonstration that Geoffrey has become a victim to the family foe. There will be evidence to convince a jury, but all the time Geoffrey will be safe." Vera said nothing. She could only gasp. Ralph's hand lay on her shoulder with a grip that was not devoid of pain. "You are not to show your feelings to any one," he croaked. "You are not to betray your knowledge by a single sign. Ah, if I could tell you how much depends upon your courage, reticence, and your silence!"