"Is there any need?" "Every need. I tell you, missy, that even though Mr. Alpenny is dead, you are surrounded by scoundrels. But if you get the money--and master swore to me that he would leave you the fortune--you will be absolutely safe." "From what, Durban?" "From the wicked schemes of these people. Major Ruck----" Here Durban checked himself and spoke softly and soothingly. "There! there, missy, ask no more questions. Some day your foolish, old, silly Durban will make things plain. Just now, think only that you will be rich, that you will marry Mr. Paslow, and that everything will go well with you." Beatrice raised her arms, and dropped them with a helpless air. She seemed to be more than ever surrounded by mysteries, and Durban, who was able to explain, insisted upon holding his tongue. At all events, her mind was set at rest regarding the honesty of Vivian; and she thought it best to take the old servant's advice, and possess her soul in patience until such time as he chose to tell her the truth, whatever that might be. But it was all very puzzling, and her head ached with the effort to think matters out. After a time Durban persuaded her to lie down, which she did very willingly, being quite prostrate after the terrors of the past few days. She fell into an uneasy doze, and was awakened by the sound of a much-loved voice. At once she put on her dressing-gown and opened the door. Vivian, looking weary and dispirited, was talking to Durban near at hand, where she could overhear plainly. "Yes," he was saying, "Beatrice gets nothing. All the money--quite twenty thousand a year--has been left by Alpenny to Lady Watson." "Lady Watson!" cried Beatrice, opening the door; "my mother's friend?" Vivian turned away. Durban changed to his usual green pallor, and seemed deeply agitated. "Yes," said Durban, "your mother's friend." He paused, and then spat on the ground. "Curse her!" said Durban fiercely. CHAPTER IX LADY WATSON Beatrice stared. At Vivian's grey drawn face, bereft of youth, and at Durban's savage green countenance, she looked spell-bound. A pause ensued. Beatrice did not know what to make of the men: Paslow's averted looks, and worn paleness; Durban's curse for Lady Watson. Would the fact that she did not inherit the money account for such emotions? She thought not, and so requested information. "What is it?" she asked, looking from one to the other; but she looked longest at Vivian. "You have heard, missy," said Durban, recovering himself somewhat. "We have lost the money." "I can bear that, if I lose nothing else," said Beatrice, her eyes still on Paslow's grey face.