"Sounds,--and what sounds? Not the broom of a servant, not the rustle of a dress,--no, we hear the step of a man! We enter, and a door closes at the further end of the room; click, a lock snaps! I rush to the window; a figure disappears around the corner of the house; I cannot see what it is, but I would swear it was no woman. I return,--we look about us at this room, which never have we seen before. A gentleman's room, as an infant could perceive. A private library, study, what you will, luxurious, enchanting. Books over which you sob with emotion,--or would sob, if your temperament permitted you expression; pictures that fill my soul with enchantment; a writing-table, and on it papers--heaps and mounds of papers! Am I right? do I exaggerate? Alps, Pyrenees of papers! You saw them?" "I didn't see anything higher than Mt. Washington," said Margaret soberly. "There were a good many, I confess." "They burst from drawers," pursued Rita, enjoying herself immensely; "they toppled like snow-drifts; they strewed the floor to a depth of--" "Oh, Rita, Rita! do rein your Pegasus in, or he will fly away altogether. There certainly were a great many papers, and they confirmed our poor little Peggy in her belief that the man she had seen was Hugo Montfort, making his ghostly search for the papers he lost. Whereas you think--" "Think! when I tell you that I _know_!" "You think," Margaret went on calmly, "that it was John Strong, the gardener. Well, and what if it was?" "What if it was? Marguerite, you are impossible; you have the intelligence of a babe new born. What! we find this man in his master's room, spying upon his private things, _romaging_--what is that word?--_romaging_ his papers, most likely making himself possessed of what he will, and you say, what of this? _Caramba_, I will tell you what of this it would be in Cuba! String him up to the wall and give him quick fifty lashes; that would be of it!" "Long Island is a good way from Cuba!" said Margaret. "I don't think we will try anything of that sort here, Rita. And when you come to think of it, my dear, we have been here a few weeks, and John Strong was here before we were born; Aunt Faith told me so. Don't you think he may perhaps know what he is about rather better than we do?" "Know what he is about!" Rita protested, with a shower of nods, that he knew very well what he was about. The question was, did their uncle know? And the black velvet coat, what had Margaret to say to that? she demanded. It was evident that this good man, this worthy servant, was in the habit of wearing his master's clothes during his absence. Did gardeners habitually appear in black velvet? Ha! tell her that!