man in the hall, and she called to him to release her from imprisonment. The door was soon unbolted, and, in the first moment of reaction, she felt much inclined to fall fainting into the arms of her deliverer; but that would never do; so she summoned up all her forces, and told the policeman what had happened. Then, still panting and holding her side, she ran upstairs to her father's room. As she expected, the old man lay upon the floor quite senseless, and, as she at first believed, quite dead. The room was in confusion-chairs overturned and boxes dragged from their places. But a glance showed Sarah that the real strong-box, which stood by the bed-side, was untouched, and in its place. Some blankets and a rug lay upon it, and it might have passed for an ordinary piece of furniture. The robbers had not had time to make a very close inspection.

It was not long before there was quite a crowd in the house, and several policemen. "The old man's dead," said one. "No he ain't," said another; "he breathes yet."

And No. 3 was

"Stunned!" said policeman No. 1. "In a fit!" quoth No. 2. "Had a stroke!" was the judgment of No. 3. right-Mr. Lane had had a stroke, as the medical men who were summoned quickly ascertained. He had received a blow, but not a severe one; and there were some bruises on his arms and on his face which proved that there had been a struggle, and that the old man had shown fight bravely. Still no fatal injury had been inflicted. The excitement and the shock had caused the seizure, which had probably very quickly followed the alarm. But Mr. Corrie, the surgeon who had for years attended the Lanes-a noted St. Oswald's man-declared that the old gentleman was virtually murdered, for it was quite impossible that he could recover, or even rally; in all probability, a few days and nights would close the scene, and the victim would never recover consciousness.

Presently the house was cleared, save of the policemen, who were taking notes, and making a strict scrutiny of the premises; and of the two doctors and several serviceable women. Two discoveries were made the men had apparently entered the house early in the evening, and had shut themselves up in an empty garret, which retained memorials of their presence in the shape of sundry crusts of bread and crumbs of cheese, an almost emptied bottle of dark brown brandy, and a miserable candle-end, which the policemen pronounced to be a "farthing dick!" How and when they had got in Sarah could not imagine, but she understood now the source of poor Snap's uneasiness when she had suspected him of hankering after cats.

Also, it was determined that the whole crew had betaken themselves to the garden; they had very wisely eschewed the street,

where they would be pretty sure to encounter the blue-coats, and other folk whom the deeply anathematised bell had called together. There were marks of hasty footsteps on the flower beds; some one had crashed through the Michaelmas daisies, which grew in wild profusion on the south side of the house, and a giant sunflower lay prone upon the rudely trampled soil. But the garden was empty enough now; such visitors would soon scale walls; besides, it would be quite easy after the throng of people had arrived to mingle with the crowd under cover of the darkness. The very marauders themselves might have been present when poor Mr. Lane was lifted from the floor. The old man would never recover sufficiently to give evidence, and he was so blind that he could not have identified the person or persons who assaulted him; it seemed doubtful whether any sufficient clue to the robbery would ever be obtained.

"And now, miss, will you please say what you think they have taken?" said the inspector, bringing out his note-book again.

"Not much, I think," she replied. "The silver dessert-spoon used for my father's medicine is gone, and so is his watch, which hung here when I left him for the night."

"What sort of watch was it, Miss Lane?"

"A very large and curious watch, extremely old-fashioned. I should know it among a thousand, and Mr. Corrie could swear to it as well as I."

"You miss nothing else?"

Sarah looked round the room; then she stooped down with the candle, and took a survey under the bed. She got up quickly, looking paler than ever. "Yes," she said, once more losing her breath; "there was a box under there: it is gone! It was not large and not heavy, and it had a strong brass handle on the lid, by which it was easily lifted. I have picked it up with one hand a thousand times, I should think."

4

'Do you know what was in it?"

"I do not. My father never opened it in my presence; but he always said it contained most important documents."

"Then you suppose there was not any money with the papers?" "I cannot say. There might be notes, but I am sure there could be no coin, because the box was so light. My father always gave me to understand that the box held only deeds and papers of consequence. Perhaps Mr. Salisbury may know the contents."

"Who is Mr. Salisbury?".

"My father's lawyer; he and his father before him have been my father's legal advisers ever since I can remember. If anybody knows anything it is Mr. Salisbury."

"Thank you. One more question-what was the missing box like ?"

"It was of oblong shape, about two feet in length, and one in width, and not half-a-foot in depth-not more than four or five inches, I should say. It was made of a dark, dull, close-grained wood. I always polished up the lid as well as I could, and the brass handle, when I did the room out once a week."

"That will do, Miss Lane; I will see you again in the morning. Good-night."

CHAPTER IV.-RHODA FINDS PEACE.

Of course the whole neighbourhood was in a state of excitement. Many people scarcely went to bed that night, and early next morning the milkman carried the news from door to door. "Have you heard what happened at old Lane's last night?" he asked, as he rattled his cans; and if the person taking in the milk had not heard, he or she was duly informed. If the person had heard, a conversation ensued. It was not surprising that Mr. Plackett finished his round that morning nearly two hours later than usual, and that some people had to breakfast without milk. By the time he returned to the dairy divers reports were current throughout the parish and in the adjoining districts. Old Lane's house had been forcibly entered by six ruffians, masked and armed with revolvers and bludgeons. The house had been stripped of all its valuables, and thousands of pounds in the shape of current coin of the realm, bank-notes, bonds, debentures, &c., carried away! Also, all the plate, except one German-silver mustard-spoon, and all Miss Lane's jewels. (Miss Lane would not have been much the loser if she had been despoiled of her ornaments, for her trinketbox contained only an infantile coral necklace, a gold and cornelian brooch, and a huge pictorial locket set in pinchbeck.) Some of these reports necessarily reached the Rectory, and Master Herbert, fresh from his nurse's hands, was the first to convey the tidings to his relatives. He waited till his parents and his sisters were in the breakfast-room, but he could not wait till prayers were over, because some one else would be sure to seize the honour and glory of telling the important news.

"Oh, stop! Don't ring for the servants, papa; I've something to tell you-something very serious," implored the young gentle

man.

bell.

Dr. Bethell paused, with his fingers on the handle of the "What is it, my boy? We are rather late this morning; will not your serious something wait?"

"No, papa, indeed it won't! You know I heard you all talking about old Lane last night?"

"You must say 'Mr. Lane,' Herbert. Yes, what about him?” "He's dead! He's killed! Robbers got into his house and killed him till he died! Then they stole everything there was,

And

even the door-mats and the pin-cushions. Ann told nurse. then they gagged Miss Lane, and tied her with cords on to the kitchen grate. I don't think there was any fire in it, though, they didn't say she was burned! But she was quite crazy when the policeman got in-she was gone clean off her head when they found her. And old Lane-I mean Mr. Lane-was lying in his bed with his throat cut, and his brains dashed out; and I think-but I am not sure he was shot as well!"

"My boy, this horrible story cannot be true."

"Indeed it is, papa. I heard Ann tell it all to nurse, and nursy believed it; and Ann says all the town is ringing with it, and that detectives are coming down from London. How I should like to see a detective!"

"There must be some truth in it," said Mrs. Bethell, "though no doubt the affair has been grossly exaggerated. Still, something untoward has happened at Salamanca House, I should fear."

"Something has happened, certainly. Let us have prayers at once, my dear. I will go and see if I can be of any service to Miss Lane as soon as I have had a cup of coffee."

Before Dr. Bethell could set out, however, more veracious accounts had reached them. One of Mr. Lupin's workmen had been among the first upon the spot, and he had told his master the simple truth, which was certainly bad enough, for poor old Lane would never speak again. And Mr. Lupin at once came up to tell the rector.

When Dr. Bethell reached Salamanca House the door was opened to him by Rhoda, and he was struck with her bright, intelligent countenance. She could not be sure whether her mistress would see anybody except Mr. Salisbury. Mr. Salisbury had been sent for, but he lived out of town, and had not yet reached his office when the messenger got there. But she thought if Miss Lane saw anybody else it would be the parson, for of course she was in trouble, having as good as lost her father, and she must want some sort of comfort.

It was

Rhoda evidently held to the opinion that it is the pastor's office to administer consolation to the afflicted sheep of his pasture. And she led the way along the hall, which was dark and narrow, and in the very middle of which was a step, contrived, as it would appear, for the express purpose of breaking people's limbs, since the stumbling-block might just as well have been omitted. said that old Lane was his own architect, and he probably was, since no architect in his senses could ever have designed Salamanca House, or any of the numerous eccentric tenements in its vicinity which Mr. Lane had built, economy being studied to the entire exclusion of convenience and good taste.

Dr. Bethell was shown into the best parlour. He thought he

It

had never sat down in a sadder-looking, more depressing room. was painfully neat, and it was really excessively clean, for Sarab Lane held strong doctrines respecting scrubbing and scouring. She was a veritable Martha, for she not only considered drudgery to be highly meritorious, but dearly loved it-it was meat and drink to her. Though all her cleaning never made her rooms look fresh and bright, and no one ever gave her the credit she really deserved. The furniture of this lugubrious apartment was of dark heavy mahogany and horsehair; a check-board table-cloth covered the pembroke table, and the window-curtains and carpet were drab, and faded drab into the bargain. There were no pictures on the walls, no ornaments of any account, no flowers, no sign of any of the countless small prettinesses which women as a rule like to gather round them. Also the room felt cold and unused, and the rector was fain to button his overcoat while he waited for Miss Lane. Presently Snap ran in and barked wildly, and showed his teeth so viciously, and dodged about so determinately between his legs, that he began to be seriously afraid for his calves. But Snap, unless outraged, rarely went beyond rending people's garments, and he now contented himself with tearing little strips from the hem of Dr. Bethell's trousers. Rhoda ran to the rescue; she drove the savage little beast away, remarking that she would drown him if she had her will; he wasn't fit to be in any decent house. Dr. Bethell thought nothing could be so good for Snap as summary immersion in the nearest pond. The first part of Mrs. Lupin's programme had come literally true, but there was no old man pounding away with a heavy stick and calling aloud for "Sally!" The old man and his stick had parted company at last, and his lips would never speak his daughter's name again, for every hour as it passed confirmed Mr. Corrie's dictum: Mr. Lane was quietly and rapidly dying. It was doubtful now whether he would outlive the day.

Sarah came at last, worn out with the shock of the last few hours, and with an utterly sleepless night. Her eyelids, too, were swollen with weeping, and her whole appearance was dejected and forlorn. And yet she met the rector's kindly greeting with a cold, suspicious gaze, and her voice was hard and rasping as ever, as she told him that her father was no better.

"Is Mr. Lane's case quite hopeless, then ?" asked Dr. Bethell, scarcely knowing what to say to this strange woman, who puzzled him as he was very rarely puzzled, for he was one of those persons who have the gift of intuitively reading characters. "She looked more grumpy than gloomy, more angry than grieved," said the Doctor afterwards in confidence to his wife; " and a more thoroughly ungracious person I have never in my life encountered. She