"No, indeed," laughed the lad. "You would not have admired them very much if I had. The nest was pretty, but the five little naked birds in it were quite disgusting, I can tell you. Not a feather had grown on them yet, and their gaping mouths seemed as if they would swallow one. I came down pretty quick, and almost landed on the head of an old woman." "An old woman," Vera repeats, in surprise. "Yes, a wrinkled, stooping old hag, gathering sticks in the wood. I gave her a pretty start, I can tell you," cries the boy, laughing at the remembrance. "Ah, then, it is a _souvenir_ of the old witch you have brought me," says the countess, smiling. "You have guessed it, Vera. You must be a witch yourself," cries Hal, in high glee with himself and her. "Here it is, a letter with an elegant yellow cover--a begging letter, of course," he adds, with a ludicrous assumption of wisdom. A start of repulsion goes over Vera as she takes the coarse envelope in her hand. She holds it unopened in her hand a moment, wondering at her own nervousness. "Are you afraid to open it, Vera?" laughs the boy. "Let me do it for you, then. The old hag was very mysterious over it, I can tell you. She bade me tell no one of the letter, not even papa and mamma. You see how clever I was, getting you away from Bessie and the children." Lady Vera has torn the coarse envelope open by this time. A half sheet of paper falls out into her hand. On it is clearly and plainly written these lines: "If Lady Fairvale would gain possession of the lost memorandum-book, let her come down beyond the lodge-gates, half a mile along the road at dusk this evening. Let her come alone and unwatched, or she will accomplish nothing. One will be in waiting who will restore the memorandum-book, and claim the reward." Thus it ends. Hal looks curiously at her pale, grave face. "It was a begging letter, wasn't it?" he inquires. "She certainly wants something of me. I am not sure if she will get it or not. Hal, promise me not to speak of this to-day to anyone--will you, dear?" "Mum's the word. I can keep a secret, you bet," answers the eldest-born of the Clives, with dreadful slang, acquired, no doubt, in the stables which he visits daily with his father. "Thank you, dear, that's a good boy. Now let us go back to Mark and Dot," says Lady Vera, putting her yellow-covered letter in her pocket. CHAPTER XXXV. "Shall I keep the appointment?" Lady Vera asks herself many times that day. A certain doubt and dread hovers intangibly in her mind. Will she really obtain the lost memorandum-book, or is it only some trap her enemies have set for her? She longs to consult Sir Harry and Lady Clive, but the warning of the writer deters her. "She must come alone and unwatched, or she will accomplish nothing." Lady Vera has a premonition that her friends would by no means permit her to accede to the writer's demands, yet she decides within herself that there is really no danger in doing so.