Room, she insisted on changing places, so
that he might be nearest to the wall. While
they were descending the stairs, she stopped
him in the middle, to enquire if he felt any
pain in the knee which he had struck against
the chair. At the last step she brought him
to a stand-still again, while she moved away
the torn and tangled remains of an old mat.
for fear one of his feet should catch in it.
Walking across the north hall, she entreated
that he would take her arm and lean heavily
upon her, because she felt sure that his knee
was not quite free from stiffness yet. Even at
the short flight of stairs which connected the
entrance to the hall with the passages leading
to the west side of the house, she twice stopped
him on the way down, to place his foot on
the sound parts of the steps, which she
represented as dangerously worn away in more
places than one. He laughed good-humouredly
at her excessive anxiety to save him
from all danger of stumbling, and asked if
there was any likelihood, with their numerous
stoppages, of getting back to the west
side of the house in time for lunch. She
was not ready, as usual, with her retort;
his laugh found no pleasant echo in hers:
she only answered that it was impossible to
be too anxious about him; and then went
on in silence, till they reached the door of
the housekeeper's room.

Leaving him for a moment outside, she
went in to give the keys back again to Mrs.
Pentreath.

"Dear me, ma'am!" exclaimed the housekeeper,
"you look quite overcome by the heat
of the day, and the close air of those old
rooms. Can I get you a glass of water, or
may I give you my bottle of salts?"

Rosamond declined both offers.

"May I be allowed to ask, ma'am, if
anything has been found this time in the north
rooms?" inquired Mrs. Pentreath, hanging
up the bunch of keys.

"Only some old papers," replied Rosamond,
turning away.

"I beg pardon, again, ma'am," pursued the
housekeeper; "but, in case any of the gentry
of the neighbourhood should call to-day?"

"We are engaged. No matter who it may
be, we are both engaged." Answering briefly
in these terms, Rosamond left Mrs. Pentreath,
and rejoined her husband.

With the same excess of attention and care
which she had shown on the way to the
housekeeper's room, she now led him up the
west staircase. The library door happening
to stand open, they passed through it on
their way to the drawing-room, which was
the larger and cooler apartment of the two.
Having guided Leonard to a seat, Rosamond
returned to the library, and took from the
table a tray containing a bottle of water, and
a tumbler, which she had noticed when she
passed through.

"I may feel faint as well as frightened,"
she said quickly to herself, turning round
with the tray in her hand to return to the
drawing-room.

After she had put the water down on a
table in a corner, she noiselessly locked first
the door leading into the library, then the
door leading into the passage. Leonard,
hearing her moving about, advised her to
keep quiet on the sofa. She patted him
gently on the cheek, and was about to make
some suitable answer, when she accidentally
beheld her face reflected in the looking-glass
under which he was sitting. The sight of
her own white cheeks and startled eyes
suspended the words on her lips. She hastened
away to the window, to catch any breath of
air that might be wafted towards her from
the sea.

The heat-mist still hid the horizon.
Nearer, the oily, colourless surface of the
water was just visible, heaving slowly from
time to time in one vast monotonous wave that
rolled itself out smoothly and endlessly till it
was lost in the white obscurity of the mist.
Close on the shore, the noisy surf was
hushed. No sound came from the beach
except at long, wearily long intervals, when
a quick thump, and a still splash, just audible
and no more, announced the fall of one tiny,
mimic wave upon the parching sand. On the
terrace in front of the house, the changeless
hum of summer insects was all that told of
life and movement. Not a human figure
was to be seen anywhere on the shore; no
sign of a sail loomed shadowy through the
heat at sea; no breath of air waved the
light tendrils of the creepers that twined up
the house-wall, or refreshed the drooping
flowers ranged in the windows. Rosamond
turned away from the outer prospect, after
a moment's weary contemplation of it. As
she looked into the room again, her husband
spoke to her.

"What precious thing lies hidden in this
paper?" he asked, producing the letter, and
smiling as he opened it. "Surely there must
be something besides writing—some
inestimable powder, or some bank-note of
fabulous value—wrapped up in all these folds?"

Rosamond's heart sank within her, as he
opened the letter and passed his finger over
the writing inside, with a mock expression of
anxiety, and a light jest about sharing all
treasures discovered at Porthgenna with his
wife.

"I will read it to you directly, Lenny," she
said, dropping into the nearest seat, and
languidly pushing her hair back from her
temples. "But put it away for a few minutes
now, and let us talk of anything else you
like that does not remind us of the Myrtle
Room. I am very capricious, am I not, to be
so suddenly weary of the very subject that I
have been fondest of talking about for so
many weeks past? Tell me, love," she added,
rising abruptly and going to the back of his
chair; "do I get worse with my whims and
fancies and faults?—or am I improved,