Not wishing to disturb sleepers by stumbling about in the dark, he lighted his candle and went upstairs. Mrs. Keith's room was fast shut; so was Colin's. He turned to the gallery, where a double row of old pictures, portraits and landscapes, adorned one wall, the other being broken by windows. Another glimmer ahead. The gallery ran round two sides of the house, and this ray came from beyond the corner. He went faster, but on rounding the corner he saw nothing. If anybody had been there, the person must have gone through a door to the back staircase. Thither also went Giles. He descended the back stairs, which ended on a part of the ground-floor divided by a swing-door from the main hall. Still no one was visible. He pushed the door open and passed through, to find himself in darkness. He could discover no presence except his own. Going once more up the front stairs, to make assurance doubly sure, he saw a light below Mrs. Keith's door, and tapped. She kept him waiting a good two minutes, then opened and faced him in surprise—her hair falling over a dressing-gown flung hurriedly on. "Giles! Is anything wrong?" "Some one is about, and I wanted to know if you had left your room." "I! I was in bed, almost asleep—but I heard a step, and I lighted my candle. Then it was not 'your' step? Not thieves, I hope!" with frightened eyes. "More likely one of the maids. Probably you heard my steps; but somebody else was on the move." "I'll speak to the maids to-morrow. They have no business to be about so late. You are 'sure' it is not a thief—" her breath quickening. "No need to feel anxious. I'm not going to bed yet, and I shall take a look at all the fastenings." He said good-night, and went the round, but found no door or window unbolted. CHAPTER III MRS. WYVERNE'S GRAND-DAUGHTERS "PHYLLYS BELINDA WYVERNE." She wrote the words in large capitals with the point of a decrepit sunshade upon a patch of smooth sand by the wayside, and read them aloud. "And that is Me," she murmured. "That always was Me. That always will be Me. Yet—when one comes to think of it—such a different Me now from what I used to be in the old, old days!" So far as looks went, she might have been anywhere between seventeen and twenty-one. "And such a different Me from what I might have been—if 'they' had lived!" she added. She allowed a handful of dry sand to stream between her fingers, and Wiggles, the rough Skye-terrier, with bright eyes under a shaggy penthouse of hair, had the benefit of it. She broke into laughter at his indignant bark. "Your temper is too easily upset, Wiggles. You should wait till you have something to bark at. There are worse things in life than a sprinkle of sand. Infinitely worse, dear Wiggles."