“Her ladyship being so delicate, it is quite natural she should be upset. It is her ladyship’s way to act on impulse. But to find such doings under her ladyship’s own roof, so to speak, and the person a close relation of the family! Mistress Marvel is a very clever lady, and whether the gentleman were drunk or asleep—” she looked up a second swiftly at Lady Lochore, and resumed the soothing trickle of speech, “her ladyship is quite right. So long as she knows how she stands with regard to Mrs. Marvel, there had better be no open scandal, such as leads,” said Margery piously, “to gentlemen’s duels and the like.” There now came a patter of feet, a flutter of soft garments, a sobbing, uplifted voice— “What was it? Which of them was it?” “Priscilla!” Mrs. Geary caught her daughter’s wrist and the girl gave a cry of pain. “Disobedient child, back to your room!” Priscilla whimpered and writhed; but the lady maintained her firm grasp and, with dignity accepting a candle from Margery’s candelabra, turned and marched the truant down the passage that led to her apartments. Bowing and smirking, Mr. Villars, whose further advice and proffers of help were ruthlessly cut short by an impatient wave of Lady Lochore’s hand, had no resource but to betake himself with his triple light in the direction of his own quarters. He had no idea of letting matters rest there, but feigned nevertheless immediate submission. They parted in the round gallery where three corridors met—two belonging to the modern house, the third leading to the tower-wing which had been the territory of their raid. Mrs. Nutmeg looked awhile after the bobbing lights; then, with a pensive smile upon her lips, laid down the candelabra, and after some effort, for it was not usually moved, closed the heavy oaken door which shut off the tower-wing from the newer parts of the Bindon House; locked it, and in silence placed the key in her apron pocket. Lady Lochore stared at her uncomprehendingly. “It is as well, my lady, to know that no one can get in or out of the keep end—except through the window! The lower door I locked myself and Sir David of course has his key. But it is to be hoped that none of the disturbance reach him on his tower, poor gentleman!” The horror returned to Lady Lochore’s eyes; how much did this secret, impassive woman really know of to-night’s deeds? “Margery!” she cried. “Yes, my lady, it is a grand night for the stars,” said Margery. And as the other groaned: “Will your ladyship come to bed?” she went on; “I humbly hope you have not let Master Rickart give you any of his queer drugs; you don’t look yourself. He has a kind of stuff, I have heard tell, that upsets people’s brains, fills them with queer fancies, like nightmare, so to speak. And there’s been madness in the village already. Master Rickart will have a deal to explain, I’m thinking. There, my lady, you’re shivering. Come to bed!”