"No, Mr. Patterson, you may not," she replied. "A--a friend--a kind friend, informed me of the fact, and spoke of the perils to which you were exposing yourself--living there all alone--all alone," she repeated. "I would not pass a night in the house again if the whole parish were there to keep me company, and what must it be to stay in that terrible, terrible place alone! You are here, perhaps, because you do not believe--because you have not seen." "I do believe," I interrupted, "because I have seen; and yet I mean to go through with the matter to the end. Have you a likeness of your father in your possession, Miss Elmsdale?" I asked. "I have a miniature copied from his portrait, which was of course too large to carry from place to place," she answered. "Why do you wish to know?" "If you let me see it, I will reply to your question," I said. Round her dear throat she wore a thin gold chain. Unfastening this, she handed to me the necklet, to which was attached a locket enamelled in black. It is no exaggeration to say, as I took this piece of personal property, my hand trembled so much that I could not open the case. True love is always bashful, and I loved the girl, whose slender neck the chain had caressed, so madly and senselessly, if you will, that I felt as if the trinket were a living thing, a part and parcel of herself. "Let me unfasten it," she said, unconscious that aught save awkwardness affected my manipulation of the spring. And she took the locket and handed it back to me open, wet with tears--her tears. Judge how hard it was for me then to keep my promise to Mr. Craven and myself--how hard it was to refrain from telling her all my reasons for having ever undertaken to fight the dragon installed at River Hall. I thank God I did refrain. Had I spoken then, had I presumed upon her sorrow and her simplicity, I should have lost something which constitutes the sweetest memory of my life. But that is in the future of this story, and meantime I was looking at the face of her father. I looked at it long and earnestly; then I closed the locket, softly pressing down the spring as I did so, and gave back miniature and chain into her hand. "Well, Mr. Patterson?" she said, inquiringly. "Can you bear what I have to tell?" I asked. "I can, whatever it may be," she answered. "I have seen that face at River Hall." She threw up her arms with a gesture of despair. "And," I went on, "I may be wrong, but I think I am destined to solve the mystery of its appearance." She covered her eyes, and there was silence between us for a minute, when I said: "Can you give me the name of the person who told you I was at River Hall?" "I cannot," she repeated. "I promised not to mention it." "He said I was in danger." "Yes, living there all alone." "And he wished you to warn me." "No; he asked my aunt to do so, and she refused; and so I--I thought I would write to you without mentioning the matter to her."