"You have heard all the good news?" she asked. "The Hall has not been in the least damaged by the fire. My father ran in to tell me a little time ago, and he has gone back, preferring to dress at home. I understand that we shall be back home on Saturday." "So I am told," Ralph replied. "It has been a great inconvenience, of course, but it most opportunely rid you of very undesirable visitors. By the time that Saturday comes you will be in a position to defy them." "Indeed, I hope so," Mary said, with the deep flush still on her face. "My father intends to bring those documents so marvellously recovered here with him tonight, and tomorrow he will take them to London. Mr. Mayfield is a clever man, but circumstances have been too strong for him this time. Mr. Darnley, you are our good fairy; without you I have not the least idea what we should have done." "Don't be so sure of that," Ralph smiled. "The fairy of my time always seemed to want something in return for past favours, and you may find that I am keeping very closely to precedent. But is not Sir George very late?" A big clock over the carved oak mantel chimed the hour of eight. Lady Dashwood shook her head, and explained that one must make allowances just now. There would be no great harm done if the dinner waited for five minutes. It was all the same to Ralph, who asked nothing better than to sit in that perfect atmosphere and contemplate the beauty of the girl before him. He had to wait some time for the prize, but he knew that it would fall into his fingers at last. There was one shortcut to victory, but he wasn't going to take that way. He watched the sunshine playing on Mary's face, he seemed to see clean through the mask of pride to the pure white soul below. "I am going to ask you a question," the girl said. "You have never told me what was your business here, except that you had lost your money and that you had come into these parts to pick up something from the wreck. Is everything gone, Mr. Darnley?" "Everything," Ralph smiled, "save honour. My father trusted Horace Mayfield, and the result is that when I leave here I shall have to get my living. I don't quite know what I am going to do, but I am strong and capable and steady. I may say----" "Here is Sir George at last," Lady Dashwood exclaimed. "What a hurry he seems to be in. Mary, my dear, will you please to ring the bell and tell Seddon we are ready for dinner. . . . Why----" Sir George had come hurriedly into the room. The white tie had come unfastened and hung in two streamers down his shirt front, but he did not seem to notice it. His face was as white as his tie; his forehead was damp with moisture. "I've lost them," he cried; "stolen out of my desk! All those precious papers! And now I am more in the power of that scoundrel Mayfield than ever! I--I----" He dropped into a chair and burst into a flood of maudlin, senile tears. CHAPTER XXV. PRIDE OR PREJUDICE