So Lesley and Grace--the latter still repeating those words: 'There can be no fear! Who would hurt the child? Why should they choose him, of all others?'--went and waited in the verandah overlooking the Garden Mound, for the first hint of Nevill Lloyd's return. And yet, while Grace said the words, she was conscious that there might be a reason. If some one wanted to force their hand about that unlucky letter--the letter that now meant the worst, since the troops _had_ been sent for, the promise of no coercion broken at the very beginning; unavoidably of course, yet none the less disastrously, if that letter became public property. And Lesley's mind, also, was not without its sting of remorse added to its anxiety, as she stood in the fast-lightening dawn looking out into the dim shadows for hint or sign. Ought she to have told Grace why her cycle ride had been so long? Yet _that_ made no difference to _this_, and a knowledge of the truth would only take from Grace a belief that had made her glad. No! she could not tell her now! She would wait till Jerry returned--if he did return! Oh! what could have become of the child? 'Jerry! Jerry!' she called almost involuntarily, and with the cry came back a memory of that midnight chase after the boy. And with that, came the thought of Jack Raymond and his warning--'He takes it too hard, dear little chap.' She laid her hand quickly on Grace Arbuthnot's wrist. 'I believe I know!' she said, starting to run. 'Come! Let us find Budlu first.' But she was too late; as they rounded the carriage-drive, and saw on the grey sky of dawn above the blossoming trees the flagstaff with its drooping flag ready to welcome the sun as ever, there was a sound of voices, of laughter, from the ruins. And the next moment Nevill Lloyd, catching sight of them, was tearing across the lawns to meet them, shouting as he ran-- 'It's all right, Lady Arbuthnot! Raymond ran the little beggar to earth in five minutes. He was up on the top of the tower with his _chuprassi_, his bearer, and Budlu the caretaker, and the young imp had got my whole sporting-magazine too! By Jove! if I'd only known _that_, I might have guessed--but Raymond did---- Grace, who had pulled up, felt the relief almost worse than the suspense; yet she kept calm. 'Lesley!' she said, 'run back and tell Sir George.' 'Let me!' cried Nevill Lloyd. 'Or stay! I'd better go and stop the search-parties.' So, with light hearts and feet, they left Grace alone to meet the little procession that was coming across the dim lawns. Rather a crestfallen little procession--Jerry, full of yawns and but half awake, led by Jack Raymond, and followed by guilty figures carrying the sporting magazine. 'He is very sorry to have made you so anxious,' said Jack Raymond, grave with difficulty, 'but I have promised you won't scold him, because he meant well. He thought it was a mutiny, and he went to guard the flag.'