The carriage stopped. Glancing to either side, Alma saw that they were in a country road, its darkness broken at this spot by the rays of two gas-lamps which flanked a gateway. The footman had alighted; the gate was thrown open; the carriage passed through on to a gravel drive. Her nerves strung almost beyond endurance, and even now seeking courage to refuse to enter the house, Alma felt the vehicle turn on a sharp curve, and stop. 'We shall not be more than a minute,' said Mrs. Strangeways, just above her breath, as though she spoke with effort. Involuntarily, Alma laid a hand on her arm 'I will--wait for you here--please----' 'But, dear, your promise! Oh, you wouldn't fail me?' The carriage door had opened; the footman stood beside it. Scarce knowing what she did, Alma stepped out after her companion, and in the same moment found a glow of light poured suddenly about her; it came from the entrance-hall of a house, where a female servant had presented herself. A house of unusual construction, with pillars and a veranda; nothing more was observable by her dazzled and confused senses. Mrs Strangeways said something to the servant; they entered, crossed a floor of smooth tiles, under electric light ruby-coloured by glass shades, and were led into a room illumined only by a fire until the servant turned on a soft radiance like that in the hall. Mrs. Strangeways glanced about her as if surprised. 'You are riot expecting Mr. Redgrave?' she said quickly. 'No, madam. We always have fires against the damp.' Thereupon the woman withdrew, closing the door, and Mrs. Strangeways, who was very pale save for her rouge spots, said in a low tone of great relief---- 'I began to fear there might be some mistake. Put up your veil for a moment, dear, and glance at the pictures. Every one has cost a small fortune. Oh, he is immensely rich--and knows so well what to buy!' CHAPTER 6 Alma's agitation did not permit her to examine details. The interior of Redgrave's house was very much what she had imagined; its atmosphere of luxurious refinement, its colour, perfume, warmth, at once allured and alarmed her. She wished to indulge her senses, and linger till she had seen everything; she wished to turn at once and escape. Mrs. Strangeways, meanwhile, seemed to be looking for the album of which she had spoken, moving hither and thither, with a frequent pause as of one who listens, or a glance towards the door. 'You won't be long?' said Alma, turning abruptly to her. 'It's my silly nervousness, dear. I thought I remembered perfectly where the album lay. How foolish of me! I quite tremble--anyone would think we were burglars.' She laughed, and stood looking about the room. 'Is that it?' asked Alma, pointing to a volume on a table near her. 'Yes!--no--I'm not sure.' An album it was; Mrs. Strangeways unclasped it, and turned over a few pages with quivering hand.