"In times of peace prepare for war," he quotes, sententiously. "Do not understand me to mean that I apprehend immediate trouble, Lady Vera. Perhaps in my friendliness and interest in you, I have magnified the danger. But I would advise that you be ready in case an attack is made. And the first step I would advise is to thoroughly examine the papers left by your father, the late earl. I can only think that he concealed the truth from you from fear of shocking your sensitive mind too greatly. But I can scarcely credit that he would fail to leave on record the narrative of so strange and important an event in your life. I say, therefore, if such a document be in existence, it is judicious that you should put yourself in immediate possession of it." Lady Vera, rising impulsively, goes over to this true and noble friend, and presses his hand warmly between both her own soft, white ones. "Sir Harry, I do not know how to thank you for the friendship you are proving so nobly," she murmurs, tearfully. "But I will pray God nightly to bless you for standing by me so nobly in my hour of trial and sorrow." "Tut--tut, I need no thanks," the baronet answers, brushing a suspicious moisture away from his eyes. "How can I help being kind to Nella's best loved friend, and her brother's sweetheart? You need not blush, my dear, for I hope Providence may soon translate Leslie Noble to some higher sphere, and give you and Phil leave to be happy. And until then I will do the best I can for your comfort. In furtherance of that end I propose that Nella and the children shall be in readiness to accompany you to Fairvale to-morrow." CHAPTER XXX. Sadly and wearily enough Lady Vera goes to her room and her couch that night. Having disrobed and retired, she dismisses her maid to the dressing-room to complete the packing for to-morrow's flitting. Then, closing her heavy eyelids, she endeavors to woo sleep to her weary pillow. Strange, shuddering sighs heave the fair breast as she lies there in the dim, half-light of the lowered lamp, with her fair arms tossed above her golden head, and the dark lashes drooping against the pale and lovely cheeks. Sir Harry Clive's conversation has revived in her sensitive, imaginative mind all her horror of that strange, living entombment through which she has passed years ago, all unknown to herself by reason of her father's tender, shielding love. "I have lain in the bosom of the dark earth, the coffin-lid has been fastened down upon my living breast, the cold, black clods have been heaped upon me; I have been buried alive. Oh, horrible!" she murmurs, aloud, and to her excited fancy it seems as if the echo of a low, diabolical laugh floats through the room. She starts up on her elbow with a low and frightened cry.