Geoffrey nodded. The cloud slowly lifted from his forehead. Vera was speaking of her uncle Ralph and there was no reason to ask any questions. Was it possible, Geoffrey wondered, that Ralph Ravenspur had gone to the heart of the mystery, that it was wrapped up in his life, and that he had come home to solve it? But of this he said nothing. He resolved to render every assistance. This vile thing was the work of earthly hands and earthly ingenuity could solve it. Never was there cipher invented that was incapable of solution. Geoffrey drew Vera to his side and kissed her passionately. For a little time she lay in his arms in absolute content. Her smiling eyes were clear, her features placid. In any case she feared no unseen danger. There must be some great sheltering power behind her, or she had never looked so sweet and placid as that. "I could not do without you, darling," Geoffrey said. "And you are not going to do without me," Vera smiled. "There is much yet to be done, but it is going to be accomplished, dearest. Something tells me that the hour of our freedom is at hand. And something also tells me, Geoff, that you are going to have a great deal to do with it." They came back at length up the slope leading to the castle. And there Ralph came upon them in his own noiseless, mysterious fashion. He clung to them until Vera had entered the house and then led Geoffrey to the terrace. "There is nobody within earshot of us?" he demanded. Geoffrey assured him that there was not. He was impressed with the earnestness of his uncle's manner. He had never seen him so moved before. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked. "Much," was the whispered reply. "If you are bold and resolute." "I am, I am. I would lay down my life as the martyrs of old did to solve the mystery." "Ah," Ralph said, in a dry, croaking whisper. "I felt sure I could trust you. There is a great danger and it is near. In that danger I want a pair of eyes. Lend me yours." "Dear uncle, I will do anything you please." "Good. I like the ring in your voice. At half-past eleven to-night I will come to your room. There I will confide in you. Till then, absolute silence." CHAPTER XI ANOTHER STROKE IN THE DARKNESS Contrary to the usual custom, there was almost a marked cheerfulness at Ravenspur the same evening. The dread seemed to have lifted slightly, though nobody could say why, even if they cared to analyze, which they certainly did not. And all this because it had seemed to the doomed race that Vera was marked down for destruction, and that the tragedy, the pitiful tragedy, had been averted. It is hardly possible to imagine a state of mind like this. And Vera half divined the reason for this gentle gaiety. She might have told them differently had she chosen to do so, but for many reasons she refrained.