The Major's ring roused them both. It was one of the "cook-general's" three nights out--she having with great resignation remained in the previous evening, "though it was Sunday and all"--so Gerald himself went to the door. "Hullo, Dundas, is it you?--why, what brings you out here at this time?--nothing wrong I hope?" "No; I've no doubt you'll think it's very _right_, so far as you're concerned; but it's important, or I need hardly say I wouldn't be here. The fact is, the will's found." "The will! What--the--the last will?--and the money's mine?" "Indisputably." Miriam was on her feet in an instant. Every vestige of colour had left her face. She looked at the Major and then at her husband, who, half-laughing and half-weeping, was scarce able to articulate. He called for air, and she ran to the window and opened it. Then he turned on Dundas almost savagely. "Where--where did you find this?" "I did not find it--Dicky did." "Where?" "Here, in your flat." He looked at Miriam as he said it, knowing well she could defend herself. "Yes," she said, confronting her husband, "here in our flat. It was I who took the will!" CHAPTER VII. MRS. DARROW SYMPATHISES. "I said it, I said it--I always said it. How well I knew what that woman was!" A veritable _feu-de-joie_ this on the part of the triumphant Mrs. Darrow, for needless to say "that woman" referred particularly in this instance to Miriam, though as a rule with her the term was generic, to be applied alike to anyone of the numerous and unfortunate females who happened to be in her black books. And her triumph at this moment was the more sweet in that her audience consisted of no less a person than the husband of the delinquent herself. There he sat, Gerald Arkel, no longer clothed in the humble sartorial products of the Strand, such as in truth had befitted a young man whose daily walk of life lay between Leadenhall Street and Water Lane; but in riding-breeches and gaiters, both of cunning and of wondrous design, and bearing on the face of them the unmistakable hall-mark of the West, for which so much is paid (or is promised to be paid) by certain young gentlemen of means ample or otherwise. From his "Quorn" scarf to his Russia leather boots, Gerald was immaculate. He was lord of the manor now, and monarch of all he surveyed--that is to say outside of Pine Cottage where for the moment he was.