"Well, Charley, honestly speaking, it is a bad look-out, in more ways than one," he answered. "He is very ill, to begin with; also has an idea that a certain policeman named Wren has picked up an inkling of his return, and is trying to unearth him. But," added Lake, "we can't very well talk in this place. I've more to say----" "Come upstairs, and take tea with me and Annabel," I interrupted. "Can't," said he; "my dinner's waiting. I'm back two hours later than I expected to be; it has been frizzling, I expect, all the time. Besides, old fellow, I'd rather you and I were alone. There's fearful peril looming ahead, unless I'm mistaken. Can you come round to my chambers to-morrow afternoon?" "No: we are going to Mrs. Brightman's after morning service." "It must be left until Monday, then; but I don't think there's much time to be lost. Good-night." Lake hastened up the street, and I returned to Allen and the letters. With this interruption, and with all I found to do, the five minutes' absence I had promised my wife lengthened into twenty. At last the office was closed for the night, Allen left, and I ran upstairs, expecting to have kept Annabel waiting tea. She was not in the drawing-room, the tea was not made, and I went up higher and found her sobbing in the bedroom. It sent me into a cold chill. "My love, what is this? Are you disappointed? Are you not happy?" "Oh, Charles," she sobbed, clinging to me, "you _know_ I am happy. It is not that. But I could not help thinking of my father. Leah got talking about him; and I remembered once his sitting in that very chair, holding me on his knee. I must have been about seven years old. Miss Methold was ill----" At that moment there came a knock and a ring at the front door. Not a common knock and ring, but sharp, loud and prolonged, resounding through the house as from some impatient messenger of evil. It startled us both. Annabel's fears flew to her mother; mine to a different quarter, for Lake's communication was troubling and tormenting me. "Charles! if----" "Hush, dear. Listen." As we stood outside on the landing, her heart beating against my encircling hand, and our senses strained to listen, we heard Watts open the front door. "Has Mr. Strange come home?" cried a voice hurriedly--that of a woman. "Yes," said Watts. "Can I speak to him? It is on a matter of life and death." "Where do you come from?" asked Watts, with habitual caution. "I come from Mr. Lennard. Oh, pray do not waste time!" "All right, my darling; it is not from your mother," I whispered to Annabel, as I ran down. A young woman stood at the foot of the stairs; I was at a loss to guess her condition in life. She had the face and manner of a lady, but her dress was poor and shabby.