THE
SAPPHIRE SIGNET

"I had the worst time puzzling this out!" she said

THE
SAPPHIRE SIGNET

BY
AUGUSTA HUIELL SEAMAN
Author of "The Boarded-Up House," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
C. M. RELYEA

NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1916

Copyright, 1915, 1916, by
The Century Co.
Published, September, 1916

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE SAPPHIRE SIGNET

THE SAPPHIRE SIGNET
OR
"THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL"

CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE IN CHARLTON STREET

It was five o'clock and a very dull, dark afternoon in Charlton Street. One by one lights had twinkled out in all the little two-story-and-dormer-windowed houses on the block,—in all but one. The parlor windows of this house were still unlit, but behind the flower-box in one of them a hand could be seen moving aside the white curtains at frequent intervals and a dim face peering anxiously into the dusk.

At ten minutes past five precisely, two trim girl-figures turned the corner of Varick Street, hurried down the block, raced up the steps of this same house, and waved frantically at the dark windows. An answering wave saluted them from between the parted curtains. At the same moment lights twinkled out from the windows, and a quick hand pulled down the shades with a jerk, shutting out the dim street for the night. But back of the drawn shades a small figure in an invalid-chair held out welcoming arms to the girls who had just entered.

"My! How long you were! I thought you'd never get here to-day. And it's been so dark and dismal all the afternoon, too!" The two girls, who were plainly twins, knelt down, one on each side of the invalid-chair.

"We were an age, I know, Margaret dear," began Bess, "but there was a good reason. It's quite exciting,—all about the new girl!"

"Yes, you can never guess what, either!" echoed Jess, winding one of Margaret's dark curls around her finger.

"Oh, tell me—quick!" The child's big, beautiful gray eyes fairly sparkled with eagerness, and a faint flush tinted her delicate face. "Is it that queer girl you told me about, who only came into the class a few days ago?"

"That's the one,—but let's get our things off first and see if Sarah made any cookies to-day. We're starving!"

A huge woman who had been moving about the room lighting gas-jets, pulling down shades, and straightening the furniture, now broke into the conversation: "Ye kin save yerselves the trouble! I ain't made no cookies this day—an' me wid all that wash! What d' ye think I be?"

"Go 'long, Sarah!" laughed Bess. "You know there's probably a whole jarful in the pantry, and we don't care whether you made them to-day or a week ago. They're always dandy!"

Sarah gave a chuckle that shook her huge frame, and tucked a light shawl lovingly about the knees of the girl in the chair.

"Ye'll have a hard time findin' any!" she warned, as the two ran off. "Won't they, Margie, macushla?"

In five minutes the twins were back, each with a massive chunk of chocolate layer-cake in her hand and a mouth full of the same.

"You told the truth, Sarah, for once! There weren't any cookies, but this is heaps better!"

"If ye get any crumbs on me floor," threatened Sarah, ominously, "ye'll have no more cake of any kind, the week out!" And she departed downstairs in great (pretended) displeasure.

"Now for it! Tell me right away," demanded Margaret. "I'm so impatient to hear!"

"Well," began Bess, in muffled tones, struggling to swallow a large mouthful of cake, "you remember we told you about that nice girl who came into our section three days ago, but who seemed so offish and queer and quiet. She's always staring out of the window, as if she were dreaming. And when she isn't studying, she's reading some book the whole time. And she hardly ever talks to a soul. Jess and I thought she must feel rather lonesome and strange. You know it is rather hard to come into the first year of High School more than a month after everything's started, and every one else has got acquainted, and try to pick up! I think one must feel so awfully out of it!

"So Jess and I decided we'd ask her to eat lunch with us to-day. She always eats by herself, and yesterday she didn't eat at all,—just read a book the whole time! I went up to her at lunch-period and said—"

"What's her name?" interrupted Margaret.

"Corinne Cameron,—isn't it a dandy name? Corinne! It has such a distinguished sound!—Well, she was reading, as usual, and looked up at me sort of dazed and far-away when I asked her if she'd care to eat with us. But she seemed very glad to do it and came right over. We had a very interesting talk, and she asked us right away to call her 'Corinne,' instead of 'Miss Cameron,' as they do in High School. She said it made her feel about a hundred miles away from every one to be called 'Miss.' So of course we asked her to call us 'Elisabeth' and 'Jessica.'"

"But why didn't you tell her just 'Bess' and 'Jess'?" interrupted Margaret again. "That's so much more natural."

"Well, you see, 'Corinne' sounds so sort of distinguished and—and dignified! And somehow our names don't. They just seem ordinary and—and so like small children. And at least 'Elisabeth' and 'Jessica' seem more—grown-up!"

"What does she look like?" questioned Margaret, going off on another tack.

"Oh, she's, well, sort of distinguished-looking, too—like her name. She's tall and slim and has very dark brown wavy hair, and big, dark eyes, almost black, and the prettiest straight nose,—not a little snub like ours (I don't mean yours, Margaret! That's all right!). But she always acts as though her thoughts were about a thousand miles away. She talked about books mostly, and asked us if we didn't just love to read. And when we said no, not so awfully, she seemed so astonished. I said we'd rather play basket-ball, and she laughed and said we couldn't play that all the time, and what did we do with our spare moments. I told her we didn't have many, because, at home here, we were always busy amusing you or helping Sarah, when we weren't studying.

"Then she asked about you, Margaret, and was so interested when we told her about your poor back, and how you couldn't move around much or go to school, but studied with us and knew just as much as we did—and more, because you read a great deal, too, even though you are only thirteen and we're fifteen. And she said:

"'That's perfectly fine!' Well, we were talking so hard that we scarcely noticed lunch-period was over, and we hadn't said half that we wanted to. She promised to eat with us every day.

"This afternoon we decided not to stay for basket-ball in the gym, because Jess's finger hurts so much where she cut it last night. So we left at half-past two (which we hardly ever do), and who should start to walk over our way but Corinne, and she was delighted that we could go part of the way together. She lives in the Ten Eyck, that swell new apartment in West Twelfth Street."

"The Ten Eyck!" exclaimed Margaret, in a tone of hushed awe. "Gracious! she must be very wealthy, then!"

"Wait till you hear!" murmured Jess, parenthetically, and Bess went on:

"She told us they'd just moved there because her father, who isn't in very good health, has to live near his business. He's in a big steamship company on West Street. And until now they've always lived in an apartment on Madison Avenue near Central Park. They just moved down here a week ago. Her mother is dead, and an aunt, her father's sister, lives with them.

"By this time we had reached the Ten Eyck, and what do you think!—she asked us to come in and chat awhile, because she was all alone. Her aunt was out at some club. Of course we went in, and my! but it was splendiferous, especially going up to the eighth floor in a big elevator! Their rooms are sort of built all around a central hall. It's different from any apartment we were ever in. Corinne took us to her room, which was about as large as this parlor, and had the cutest low bookcases all around the walls and lovely cushioned seats in the windows. And we sat there and talked a long time.

"But here's another queer thing about her. While we were talking about school and our studies, and how hard the geometry seemed, she suddenly showed us an old book that was lying on her table,—it was a very old, battered-up looking book with brown stains on the leaves, and one cover half hanging off, and the queerest old-fashioned pictures,—and, she asked us whether we'd like to look at it. She said it was her chief treasure just now. It was called 'Valentine's Manual, Volume II,' and seemed to be all about New York City in very early times. She said her father had picked it up at an auction-sale of some one's library, and had given it to her for her birthday.

"I didn't say much, for somehow I thought it was an awfully queer thing to get for your birthday—an old, dilapidated, uninteresting book like that! And then I guess she saw that we were surprised, for she said:

"'Don't you love old things?'

"I just had to laugh,—it all seemed so queer! And I said, no, I preferred them brand-new. And then she said:

"'Well, perhaps every one doesn't feel the same as I do; for Father says I'm a born antiquarian, just as he is!' We couldn't say a word, either of us, for actually, we don't know what 'antiquarian' means! She went out of the room just after that and brought back some lemonade and little sweet crackers. Then we had to leave, for it was getting late, and we knew you'd be watching for us." Here Bess ended her recital and Margaret instantly exclaimed:

"Get the dictionary—quick! I want to see what 'antiquarian' means!"

"That's just like you!" commented Jess, as she hauled a big Webster's Unabridged out of the bookcase. "You're a lot like Corinne, too. I think you two would get on beautifully together. Here it is:

"'Antiquarian,—one who is addicted to the study of antiquities; an admirer of antiquity.' And 'antiquities' are old things, of course. Well, what she sees to admire in 'em beats me! Anyhow, she's an awfully nice girl,—sort of unusual, you know,—and I'm glad we made her acquaintance. Bess and I were saying on the way home that it's kind of like an adventure to meet unusual people—" Jess broke off suddenly, at the sound of a latch-key in the front door, and they all exclaimed:

"There's Mother! Isn't she early to-night!"

A pleasant-voiced woman called out to them cheerily, and a moment later entered the room. Mrs. Bronson's face, which singularly resembled her youngest daughter's, had once been very pretty, but now showed many traces of anxious care. Her expression was of one who was constantly thinking over worrisome matters. But at the sight of the trio her face lit up, the lines smoothed away temporarily, and ten years seemed magically to drop from her as she sat down in the group, questioning them about the affairs of their day.

After a few moments the twins went off downstairs to help Sarah with the dinner, and Margaret was left to her coveted half-hour alone with her mother.

"Oh, Mummy," she sighed, snuggling her head on Mrs. Bronson's shoulder, "this is lovely! You don't often get home so early. But I appreciate it specially, because I feel sort of blue and no-'count to-night."

"Is that so, dear?" exclaimed her mother, some of the anxious lines returning to her face. "Is the pain worse? What has happened to-day?"

"No, it isn't my back," Margaret almost sobbed. "It's just that nothing has happened—to me—to-day; nothing ever does happen! I just sit here all day long, waiting for 'something to turn up,' like Dickens' Mr. Micawber, and nothing ever does turn up! The twins go out and meet nice people and have pleasant things happen, but there's nothing like that for me. Oh, I want some adventures—just one nice, big, beautiful adventure would do—some delightful, unexpected surprise! I'd be content if I could have just one!" It was very unusual for Margaret to make the slightest complaint, and it was well now that her head was on her mother's shoulder, and that she did not see the sudden pain in Mrs. Bronson's face.

"Dearie, I know!" her mother said. "It's dull enough for you, sitting here day after day. But we're all doing the best we can to make you happy. After all, you never can tell what's going to happen. Just keep on hoping for something interesting to 'turn up,' and I'm sure sometime it will. Things occasionally happen in the most unexpected way! Even Mr. Micawber had something pleasant 'turn up' after a while, if you remember."

Margaret snuggled her head closer. "You're a dear, Mummy! You do cheer me up so! I feel better already, and I'm going to hope harder than ever that something nice and interesting—some real adventure—will turn up sometime, perhaps soon!"

CHAPTER II
SOMETHING TURNS UP

And the unexpected happened sooner, much sooner, than Margaret would even have dared to dream. Something did "turn up"! But like many adventures, it came clothed in the guise of quite an ordinary, every day affair, and there was little about its beginning to suggest the remotest idea of anything startling. To be exact, it was simply that about a week after the beginning of their acquaintance the twins came home one day with the announcement that their new friend, Corinne, had expressed a decided wish to call and make Margaret's acquaintance, and that they had invited her for the following day. At first Margaret had protested strongly:

"Oh, no, girls! I can't see her. You know I never see any strangers. It's awfully nice of her. But—but I wouldn't know what to say to any one I didn't know very well. Do thank her for me, but—"

"Nonsense!" cried Bess, decidedly. "It'll do you good to see some one beside just ourselves. Mother thinks so too. And you'll like her, I know. I couldn't tell her she mustn't come, anyway! It wouldn't be polite!" And that clinched the argument.

In reality, it had seemed quite wonderful to Margaret that this interesting new friend of her sisters could possibly care to become acquainted with her, and she felt grateful for the pleasant attention. But with the unconquerable shyness of a secluded invalid she shrank from the meeting, all her longing for something new and exciting to happen being temporarily forgotten. And then the day arrived.

"Ye'll be after havin' company, this afternoon, Margie mavourneen, so I suppose ye'll be wantin' a little snack about half-past four?" Sarah had just wheeled Margaret into the front parlor by the window, raised the shades a trifle, and tucked her idol securely and cozily into her chair.

"Oh, yes, Sarah! Do have hot chocolate and those lovely drop-cakes you made this morning!"

"Who's the gur-rl that's comin', anyway? Shure it's a strange thing for you to be seein' any one!" Sarah exclaimed jealously as she turned to leave the room.

"Oh, some one named Corinne Cameron. She's a nice girl. The twins like her," replied Margaret, with assumed indifference. Not for worlds would she have allowed Sarah to read her real feelings on the subject.

"Huh!" was Sarah's only reply as she handed Margaret her book and lumbered heavily downstairs to the kitchen, while the invalid settled herself to wait for the arrival of her twin sisters and their "queer" new friend. It was only two o'clock and she couldn't possibly expect them before three or a quarter past. The time loomed long and interminable before her. First she tried to read, but even the beloved "Little Women" failed to interest her. So she rested her elbow on the arm of her chair, and, chin in hand, stared out of the window across the street at a squat little dormer-windowed house directly opposite.

Would she really, she wondered, like the girl who was coming that day? The occasion was certainly an unusual one in her uneventful life, for she saw, as a rule, almost no one outside of her own family, except the doctor. From the time she was a small baby she had suffered with an affection of the spine, and the physicians could hold out no hope that she would ever be anything but an invalid. Ever since she had grown too large to be carried about, she had spent her waking hours in this invalid-chair.

Of the outside world she saw little save the view from the parlor windows, and what passed before her each sunny day during the short hour that Sarah pushed her in her chair up and down the block. But Margaret was singularly loving and sweet-tempered, and most of the time successfully hid the pain and weariness she suffered, both in body and mind. Few realized, except the faithful Sarah, what bodily misery she often endured; and none could appreciate the unconquerable shyness that kept her from all companionship with girls of her own age, excepting that of her sisters.

Margaret envied nothing more heartily than the ability to join in the athletic sports of the robust twins. She yearned above all things to play basket-ball and wield a tennis-racket. And because such things were to be forever impossible to her, she felt that she could be of no earthly interest to her sisters' equally athletic comrades, so she shyly refused to meet any of them. But this new girl was obviously "different." Margaret felt that perhaps she would understand, that they would find much of common interest to talk about. For Margaret, too, loved books,—loved them with the passionate delight that only confirmed invalids can feel for the printed magic that takes them out of themselves and makes them forget their bodily ills. She read voraciously everything that came her way. Beside that, she had long ago insisted on studying with the twins. She kept pace with them through all their school work and often outstripped them in the quickness of her comprehension. And the twins were immensely proud of her attainments.

The home life of the Bronsons was a pleasant one, but rather different in many ways from that of ordinary families. Their father had died when Margaret was a baby. Their mother was the busy, worried, overworked director of a large French dressmaking establishment on Fifth Avenue. By her earnings she supported her family in moderate comfort and maintained the little house in Charlton Street, which had always been their home. She went away to business early every morning, and often did not arrive home till late in the evening, especially in the "rush" seasons. Thus she saw little of her children except on Sundays, and then she was usually too tired to enjoy their company, though she loved them devotedly.

It was big, loyal Sarah McKinstry who really ran and directed the household. She had lived with the family ever since Mrs. Bronson had come to the Charlton Street house, a bride, and considered it her own. Little, frail, ailing Margaret she adored with a passionate and jealous devotion. Margaret never teased her, as did the twins, and many a weary night had she spent sitting up with the little sufferer when the pain was worse than usual. Her sharp tongue she used on the others unsparingly, but never on the delicate child in the invalid-chair. Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, she was really devoted to them all. And though they, perhaps, never expressed it in quite that way, they knew that the heart of Sarah McKinstry was as a precious jewel in a setting of cast-iron.

So on this sunny afternoon sat Margaret in her window, wondering much about the coming visit,—wondering for the hundredth time if she would really like this queer Corinne Cameron, and—which was even more important—would she be liked in return.

The clock on the mantel chimed three, and Margaret began to crane her neck in order to see as far down the street as possible. They would come from the Varick Street end of the block, she knew, because they always walked down that way, in preference to the shorter but not so pleasant route through Macdougal Street.

At three-fifteen precisely they swung into view. The twins, who looked very much alike, were walking one on each side of a tall girl, who topped them by almost a head. Margaret gave a little gasp and leaned far out of her chair. In one swift glance she scanned the new acquaintance, as the three came abreast of the house.

"Oh, I'm going to like her—surely!" she whispered, as she waved in answer to the triple salute. Then she drew back suddenly behind the curtains in a new access of shyness, now that the encounter was really so close.

But if Margaret had any lingering doubts on the subject, they were quickly dispelled in the first half-hour with the "queer" girl. Corinne broke the ice at once after her introduction to the little invalid.

"What a dear, fascinating house you live in!" she began, gazing about the parlor with her dreamy, far-away look. "That carved marble mantel is just fine, and so are the pillars between the rooms, and all this white paneling."

The twins stared at each other and then at Margaret.

"Mercy! Do you think so?" cried Bess. "Why, we've always thought it the horridest, old-fashioned place—"

"That's just what I mean," interrupted Corinne. "It is old-fashioned, and that's why it's so delightful!"

"Oh, we forgot that you like old things!" laughed Bess. "Well, this is just a little, old, shabby rookery, and not a single interesting thing about it. You don't know how we've longed to move into a lovely new apartment—like the one you live in, for instance,—and have all the up-to-date fixings and everything."

"Well, I'd give a lot to change with you!" replied Corinne. "I hate apartments! I've lived in one all my life, and I've always just dreamed of living in a dear old house like this that was built fifty or a hundred years ago. Think of all the things that must have happened in it, and all the history it's seen!—Nobody ever heard of anything historical about an apartment-house!"

Margaret, who hadn't said a word all this time, leaned forward now with shining eyes and demanded:

"But—Corinne—" (she hesitated just a little over the unaccustomed name) "what can you possibly see about this place that's interesting? We've always thought it just as ordinary as—as ordinary could be,—when we've thought about it at all!" And now Corinne was in her element.

"Why, think of it!" she exclaimed. "Think what stories there must be about this house—or any old house! Think what strange things may have happened in it! Think what history it's seen! Think what mysteries there may be about it—if we only knew them! Just imagine what scenes people may have looked at out of those darling little dormer-windows, or what famous generals may have leaned against this white-pillared mantel and talked of their battles, or what traitors may have sat in this parlor and laid plots, or what secret letters may be hidden behind the woodwork in that funny little cater-cornered closet over there, or—"

She stopped suddenly from sheer lack of breath. Her three listeners were staring at her spellbound. Even the less impressionable twins were devouring her words in wide-eyed wonder.

As for Margaret, she was tingling to her finger-tips with a strange excitement. A whole new vista of wonderful things had suddenly been opened to her. She looked about on what she had always considered her perfectly ordinary, commonplace home, and her very scalp prickled to think of the many-sided mysteries its walls might contain. She felt a sudden wild desire to get to the cater-cornered closet Corinne had mentioned (though she knew it contained nothing more exciting than Sarah's dusters and some dilapidated books), rip out its white woodwork and search frantically for hidden documents. Instead, she leaned back in her chair with a long sigh, and remarked:

"Well, you are a wonder, Corinne! You've given me something new to think of. From now on, this house will always be as interesting to me as a story!"

Corinne nodded, but only said, "I know!"

Suddenly Jess sat up with a start and exclaimed:

"Oh, by the way, Corinne, as you're so interested in old things, I wonder if you'd like to see the spinning-wheel we've got up in the attic. Mother says it belonged to her grandmother in New England more than a hundred years ago!"

"Have you actually an attic?" cried Corinne, joyfully. "Oh, do let me see it—that is, if it won't be inconvenient! Actually, girls, I've never been in a real attic in my life! And I'd love to see the spinning-wheel, too."

"Well, come right along with me," said Jess, "and we'll see it while the daylight lasts. I suppose it isn't the same kind of an attic you'd find in a big old farmhouse, but it's the open space over the top floor that we've always used as an attic and storeroom, except the back part, which is finished off into a room that Sarah uses. She's our maid,—or rather, our housekeeper, and we'd better not let her catch us up there, because she's awfully particular how she keeps the attic, and never allows us to go up and disturb things."

So Jess escorted the antique-loving Corinne to the exploration of the attic, while Bess remained downstairs to keep Margaret company.

"Well?" she questioned, turning to her younger sister as soon as the others were out of ear-shot. She knew that no further explanation of her question was necessary.

"Oh, she's simply wonderful!" exclaimed Margaret, in a half-whisper. "I rather expected I'd like her, but I never dreamed she'd be as interesting as this. And she thinks the same way I do about a lot of things."

"But isn't she queer!" marveled Bess. "Actually, on the way walking down here this afternoon, I thought we'd never be able to drag her past some of the old, rickety places on Varick Street. She'd stand in front of each one and rave about it till we really began to attract the notice of people passing. But she didn't care! You'd have thought we were sight-seeing in Europe! And she was worst of all in front of that ramshackle old place on the corner of Carmine Street, that has a whole piece of the side cut off, apparently, and the front door stuck in that funny angle. True as you live, she got out a blank-book and pencil and stood there sketching it! (You know, she draws beautifully.) Said she wanted to show it to her father! I didn't think or care anything about that kind of talk then; but do you know, what she's said here this afternoon actually makes me feel kind of interested in it all! I seem to see a lot in these old things that I didn't before."

Bess gazed about the parlor again with speculative eyes, and added: "Now, that old cupboard in the corner, for instance," when they were both startled by a loud crash from upstairs.

"Gracious!—what was that?" she exclaimed, and ran out to the foot of the stairs to listen. But as there were no further alarming noises, she soon came back.

"I guess it wasn't anything serious, but I hope nothing's broken or disturbed, or Sarah'll have a fit!"

Five minutes later, Corinne and Jess came tearing down the stairs, breathless and excited, the latter carrying something in her hand.

"Did you hear that bang?" cried Jess. "It was an accident—I'll tell you about it—but we made the most wonderful discovery—you can never guess what!" she was panting for breath and stopped short at this point.

"Tell me! Tell me quick!" begged Margaret, almost wriggling out of her chair in her excitement.

"Here it is!" Corinne, equally breathless, took up the tale. "We brought it down—" At this moment there came the sound of heavy, thumping steps on the basement stairs, and Jess, running to the bookcase, hastily thrust something far behind a row of books.

"Sarah's coming!" she warned. "I've hid it. She mustn't guess what we've been up to, or she'd spoil everything!" She laid a warning finger on her lips as Sarah tramped massively into the parlor bearing a daintily spread tray.

"I hur-rd a tur-rible bangin' jest now!" she remarked suspiciously as she set it down. Then turning her eyes on the twins: "What might the pair of ye have been up to?"

"Oh, nothing, Sarah!" Jess replied sweetly. "I went up to the attic for a moment, and something fell while I was pulling it out. But there wasn't any damage done," she hastened on reassuringly, "and I put it right back!"

"I've warned ye to keep out of that attic!" grumbled Sarah, arranging the chocolate-cups. "Something always happens when ye go there. From now on, I think I'll be lockin' it up!"

"My gracious!" thought Margaret, boiling inwardly with impatience. "I do believe this is an adventure, at last! Will Sarah ever get out of this room so that I can hear all about it!"

CHAPTER III
THE DISCOVERY IN THE ATTIC

But Sarah continued to circulate around the little tea-table, clattering the cups, pouring the chocolate, and handing about the napkins and plates. And all the while she was scanning Margaret's new visitor with jealous and appraising eyes. Her ministrations seemed fairly interminable to the impatient four, and during the whole time that she was serving the refreshments not one of them uttered a word. So much of a contrast was this silence to their usual volubility, that she delivered this Parthian shot as she was at last taking her departure:

"Ye all seem mighty quiet, though ye were chatterin' hard enough when I come up! I'm thinkin' ye must have guilty consciences!"

When she had disappeared, Corinne spoke up:

"You girls all seem rather afraid of your maid, if you'll pardon my remarking it! But I think she seems very good-hearted."

"Why, it's this way," replied Bess. "You see, Sarah's more than just a maid or a servant. She runs the whole house, really, because Mother's away so much and just trusts her with everything. She's awfully good to us children and would do almost anything for us. But she's very, very particular about her work and her way of arranging things, and she won't be interfered with the least bit. Why, Mother herself wouldn't think of changing any of Sarah's arrangements, even if she didn't like them, because Sarah wouldn't stand for it, and we couldn't do without her. Jess and I tease her a lot, and she lets us have anything we want to eat; but we mustn't on any account interfere with her in other ways, or there'd be trouble!"

Bess did not enlighten Corinne, however, as to the real reason for their consideration of Sarah. It was because of an episode that had happened when she and her twin sister were several years younger. They had rebelled one fine day at what they considered Sarah's tyranny, and for twelve long hours had led her a life of excitement and angry remonstrance. And then that night, just as their mother arrived home, behold Sarah descending the stairs, dressed for departure, a huge carpetbag in each hand. A stormy and tearful scene ensued in which Sarah finally relented at the urgent importunities of the distracted Mrs. Bronson. But she promised to remain only on condition that the twins should obey her implicitly from that moment.

And in the privacy of their bedroom that night Mrs. Bronson had warned the nine-year-old rebels that, should such a scene ever occur again, she would give up their home, put Margaret in a sanatorium and the twins in the strictest boarding-school she could find, and herself find a place to live nearer to her business. The threat had its lasting effect, and nothing of the kind had ever happened since. But this was the true reason why the family lived in wholesome awe of Sarah. And, as the twins were anything but proud of the episode, they never referred to it.

"Sarah will probably do just as she threatened," added Jess, looking meaningly at Corinne, "and lock up the attic. She's awfully particular about that place! You'd think it was as important as the parlor!"

Suddenly Margaret, who could endure the suspense no longer, burst out:

"If some one doesn't tell me quick all about that mysterious thing you found in the attic, I'll—I'll go crazy!" Then she dropped back in her chair, overcome anew by shyness at having been so vehement before a comparative stranger.

"Oh, tell her, right away!" cried Corinne. "I know just how she feels!"

"Well, it happened this way," began Jess, between a sip of chocolate and a bite of drop-cake. "Corinne and I were looking at the spinning-wheel—"

"Yes, and it's a beauty, too!" interrupted Corinne. "You ought to have it down here."

"—and then we got to poking around, looking into some boxes and talking about the funny old hooded cradle that Mother brought from her home in Massachusetts. And all of a sudden Corinne spied that little old hair-trunk,—do you remember it, Bess?—and she said she'd never seen an old trunk like that before. I asked her if she'd like to look into it. I really didn't remember, myself, what the inside was like or what was kept in it. She said she would, so we started to haul it down. It's rather small, and Sarah had it piled way up on that high shelf.

"Well, I guess we gave it too hard a jerk, for all of a sudden, down it came—smash!—and flew open (you know it hasn't any lock now), and everything in it was scattered all over the floor. Sarah had all our winter flannels packed away in it, and you can imagine what a time we had picking them up and trying to fold and get them back so she wouldn't know what had happened!

"Corinne noticed that the bottom of the trunk seemed all wrong"

"But here's the queer part of it! Just after we'd collected all the things and folded them nicely and were going to put them back, Corinne noticed that the bottom of the trunk seemed all wrong. One corner of it was humped up as though it had been knocked through in falling. I tell you I was scared, for I thought Sarah'd just go wild when she found it out! But when we turned the trunk upside down,—lo and behold! the bottom of it was all right—just as tight as a trivet!

"If we weren't astonished! We just didn't know what to make of it! Then we turned it back, and I put my hand under the part that was poked up, gave it a pull, and—it came right out!—the whole bottom! And there, if you please, was the real bottom of the trunk, underneath! But between the two was lying hidden—this!" Jess ran to the bookcase, pulled out the mysterious object she had concealed there, and crossing the room laid it in Margaret's lap. They all crowded about the chair.

"Why!" exclaimed Bess, in a tone of great disappointment, before the others could speak, "it's only an old, dusty, disreputable account-book with the back torn off. I don't see anything so wonderful in that!"

"Wait till you've seen what's inside!" remarked Corinne, quietly. Margaret, meanwhile, was fingering the crumbly leather cover, wondering at its queer, mottled aspect. Then she opened it to the first page and suddenly gave a big gasp.

"Well, of all things!" she murmured. "What in the world can it mean? I never saw anything like it before!"

"Neither did I!" agreed Bess, now in a tone of real awe. The other two only smiled, with a rather "I-told-you-so!" expression. Well might they marvel over its strange contents. The pages were yellow with age and mottled with curious brown stains, and some of them were torn. But the writing was still visible, and this is what it looked like:—

with similar characters all down the first page. A glance through the rest of the long thin book revealed the same array of bewildering symbols to the very last leaf, where the back cover was missing.

The four sat for a moment in silent astonishment, trying to make some sense out of the riddle. Suddenly Margaret had an idea.

"I know! It's shorthand! I've read that that is writing with funny curves and dots and wiggly lines."

"No," Corinne gently corrected her, "I don't think it's shorthand, Margaret. I saw some shorthand that Father's stenographer wrote once, and it was quite different from this. Besides, this seems quite old, as if it were done many years ago, and shorthand's a comparatively modern invention, I think."

"Well, then, it must be Chinese or Syrian or Russian or something like that!" asserted Jess. "I've seen lots of signs over the stores of foreigners that don't look so very different from this. Or—oh, I know now! it's Greek!"

Corinne laughed. "No indeed, it isn't Greek!" she declared. "Father taught me the Greek alphabet when I was a tiny girl, and made me learn to know the letters. I'm going to study it when I go to college. This is entirely different. I don't believe they're letters of any other language, either."

She sat in frowning thought over the strange page for several minutes, while the others watched her in breathless interest. They, having no further solutions to offer, threw themselves unreservedly on her greater resourcefulness. Jess, meanwhile, refilled the chocolate-cups, and Bess passed the cake, while Margaret reveled in such excitement as she had never before experienced. Corinne still remained thoughtfully turning the pages. Suddenly she exclaimed:

"I have it!—at least, I think so!"

"What? what? oh, quick!" they begged.

"I think some one has written all this in what they call a—a 'cipher.' I've heard of such things. Father told me people often send messages over the telegraph or cable in cipher—"

"But what is that? How?" demanded Margaret.

"Why, they have certain words or expressions which stand for other words or even whole sentences. And you can't understand the message unless you have the 'code' or explanation. For instance, a man may cable just the words 'Pay Smith' to his broker, and that may mean 'Buy me five thousand bushels of wheat to-day.'"

"Yes, but that isn't a bit like what's here," argued Margaret.

"No, but it's the same idea," Corinne declared. "I think in this case some one has taken certain signs to represent the different letters of the alphabet. First I thought that perhaps each sign might stand for a different word. But that could hardly be, because there are so many words, one could hardly find signs enough to go round. And besides, I notice in looking through the book that there are comparatively few signs, and they are constantly repeated." She fell to gazing silently at the book again, while the others watched, still more fascinated by the discoveries she was making. Presently she looked up again.

"I've found out something else, I think. Do you see that sign of the triangle? Well, if you notice, that occurs more frequently than any of the others. In the first five lines there are more than fourteen of them, and no other sign happens as frequently as that. Now, if these signs stand for letters, that couldn't be a letter, even if it were one of the commonest, like 'a' or 'i' or 'e'—"

"What can it be then?" whispered Margaret, in a voice so tense that they all laughed.

"I think it means the space between the words!" vouchsafed Corinne. "You see, there'd have to be something to indicate spaces. You couldn't have the words all jumbled up together. It wouldn't make sense!"

"Well, you are wonderful!" sighed Jess, sitting back on her heels. "I never would have thought of it in a century!"

"Oh, no!" laughed Corinne. "There's nothing wonderful about that. It's only common sense and puzzling it out like a riddle. Now see! If we take it for granted that the triangle means a space between the words, this sign of the dot between two triangles must be either the letter 'a,' 'I' or 'O,' for those are the only words of just one letter. But you can't tell which it is till you've puzzled out some more. And—after all, this idea may be all wrong. It may be something quite different, for all we know!"

"But what can it all be about?" began Jess, going off on another tack. "And how under the sun did the thing get hidden away in our old trunk under a false bottom. It's awfully mysterious!"

"Tell you what I think," volunteered Corinne. "Whatever it is, it's been in that trunk for years and years—hidden there, perhaps, when the trunk belonged to some one else. Do you know where it came from—the trunk, I mean?"

"No, I don't even know whether it was Father's or Mother's," answered Jess. "But I can ask Mother. Maybe she'd know."

"I'd like to puzzle this thing out!" mused Corinne. "Who knows! Perhaps we'd find it was something awfully interesting. It's simply full of mystery and—and possibilities!" At this point, Margaret, who during all the latter conversation had been fidgeting with impatience, began:

"Now, girls, look here! I've just had the most delightful idea! We've made the discovery of something awfully interesting, probably, if we could only find out what it's all about. Why not let's form ourselves into a secret society—just we four—with the purpose of finding out all about this mystery? We won't let another soul into the secret—not even Mother. Oh, it'll be such fun! Do, please!"

She looked imploringly at the twins, and for once they did not appear to object—even looked a trifle interested. For it was the ambition of Margaret's pitiful, limited little life to be the member of a "secret society." She had read much of school fraternities and clubs, and the fascinating idea had taken a firm root in her mind. Of course for her—poor helpless little invalid that she was—there could be no such thing as membership or participation in the real organizations. In place of this, she was forever begging her sisters to form a tiny society of their own, just the three, and have meetings and secrets and all the paraphernalia of the big school "frats."

But the idea had never appealed to the twins. They had no interest in any of the school clubs except the basket-ball and tennis teams. And to have a make-believe one at home with no earthly or apparent object was something they had never yet brought themselves to consider, much as they loved their invalid sister. But here was something a trifle different! Margaret, quick to see her advantage, hastened on:

"Oh, yes! Do let's have one! Wouldn't it be a good idea, Corinne? Think of the fun we'd have, meeting and puzzling out this queer old book! Perhaps it might lead to something important, too. And I've even thought of a name for it,—we could call it the Antiquarian Club!"

The latter idea captured Corinne. "That's a dandy name for it,—'Antiquarian Club'! I like that! And besides, it's true, too, for if this isn't an antiquity, I'd like to know what is! Yes, let's have the club!" Corinne was moved to accept the idea by two impulses. The notion really did appeal to her, but even if it hadn't, she would have pretended it did for the sake of the pathetic little figure in the invalid-chair, who was rapidly taking a firm hold of her heart.

"Oh, goody! And you do like the idea, too, don't you, girls?" exclaimed Margaret. The twins capitulated unreservedly.

"Yes, we do," said Bess. "I've always detested such societies because they seemed so useless. But this thing is really worth having a club for!"

Margaret, however, had something else on her mind. "Oh, just one thing more," she added, a little shyly. "Could I—could I be—president? All clubs have to have a president. I would so love to be!"

"Indeed you shall!" spoke up Corinne before either of the others had a chance. "We elect you at once—unanimously—don't we, girls? And now, Miss President, you can appoint the rest of us to other offices!"

Margaret flushed with pleasure. "I appoint you, Corinne, to be secretary. There always has to be one of those. And there usually is a treasurer, if there is any money to handle. But there won't be here, for we won't have any dues. So I don't know what to call the others."

"Let's just be plain members, for the present," suggested Bess. "And now, what are we going to do about this book, Miss President?"

"I think we ought to let Corinne take it home and see if she can puzzle out any more of it before next meeting," decided Margaret. "That would be all right, wouldn't it?" They all agreed.

"I'd like to show it to Father and ask him what he thinks—" began Corinne, but Margaret hastily interrupted:

"Oh, no! You mustn't do that! You know it's a secret society, and we aren't going to tell any one about anything in it. And besides—"

"Yes, and besides," put in Jess, "if we tell any one about this book, it might somehow leak out and get back to Sarah what we'd done in breaking the trunk, and then there might be trouble!" She looked meaningly at Bess.

"Oh, no!" assented the latter hastily. "We mustn't tell a soul!" Plainly the twins still lived in dread of the awful threat made so many years ago. They knew that Sarah was even yet fully capable of putting it into execution—under sufficient provocation!

"All right," agreed Corinne. "I won't breathe a word of this, then, and I'll see what I can do to make head or tail of the thing. But, mercy!" glancing at her watch, "it's nearly six o'clock, and I ought to have been home long ago. I'll take the car at the corner, I guess." She hurried into her wraps, gathered up the precious "find" with her school-books, and bade the girls good-by.

"It's been a remarkable afternoon for me!" she declared as she kissed Margaret. "I feel like a real antiquarian now. Hurrah for the Antiquarian Club! Let's have another meeting as soon as I've made some progress with this!" She tapped the old account-book significantly and hurried away.

"Oh!" sighed Margaret, blissfully, settling back in her chair, "this is positively the most wonderful day I ever spent in my life! Can I ever wait for the next meeting?" The twins stood by her chair, looking thoughtful. They too were strangely stirred out of their usual unimaginative selves.

"Well, I confess, I never dreamed of anything so queer happening in this old ranch!" marveled Bess. "It's all Corinne's doings."

That night Mrs. Bronson came home very late from business, but she went in, as was her invariable custom, to peep at her little invalid daughter before she herself retired. To her surprise, she found Margaret still awake.

"Dear, you're not ill, are you?" she inquired anxiously. "You're usually asleep at this time."

But Margaret only laughed a happy little laugh. "No, Mummy, I'm all right,—only just too interested to sleep! Do you remember what you once said about an adventure turning up? Well, it has,—the loveliest kind of a one! But I can't tell you about it, because it's a secret. You won't mind, will you?"

Mrs. Bronson smiled. "No indeed, I won't mind! Just as long as you're happy and contented, I don't mind a thing! Did the twins' new friend come to see you to-day? And did you like her?"

At this, Margaret entered on such a vivid and enthusiastic account of Corinne, that Mrs. Bronson heaved a sigh of thankfulness for the new interest in her little girl's empty life.

An hour later Margaret fell asleep to dream, the night through, of strange, hieroglyphic symbols, and all the weird things they might stand for. But not a thing she dreamed of was as curious as the reality that Corinne was soon to disclose!

CHAPTER IV
A KEY TO THE MYSTERY

The next few days passed in a fever of impatience for Margaret. Each afternoon she besieged the twins for news of Corinne and her progress with the "cipher." And every day their report was about the same:

"She thinks she's on the right track, but she can't tell surely yet. It's pretty difficult, you know, and Corinne has to study and do other things, too, besides puzzling over that."

"But has she found out any of the letters?" Margaret would demand.

"She thinks so, but she can't be sure till she's made them all out definitely." And Bess would add, "Now, do be reasonable, Miss President! Your secretary is doing her very best. But if you don't think she's a success, you might take the job away from her and give it to me!" At which Margaret would chuckle derisively.

Truth to tell, the twins were almost as anxious as she for a solution of the mystery. The sudden introduction of this new element into their hitherto wholly athletic and unimaginative existences, they found, to their surprise, even more diverting than the most exciting tennis-match or basket-ball struggle. About a week after Corinne's first visit, all three burst in breathlessly upon Margaret, one cold afternoon, and transported her to the seventh heaven of delight with this exciting news: "Corinne's got it, at last! Haven't you, Corinne!

"Yes," she admitted, giving Margaret a big hug of greeting, "I think I've puzzled out most of the letters now, and I've even worked out a few of the first sentences—"

"Yes, and she says they're awfully strange!" interrupted the twins, in chorus. "And she wouldn't tell us a word, though we begged her hard!"

"Well, Miss President," laughed Corinne, "it seemed to me that this was a thing to be revealed only in a solemn meeting of the club and in your presence. Was I right?"

"Indeed you were!" declared Margaret. "Don't you ever tell them a thing before you've told me, will you?"

"I won't!" promised Corinne. "It shall be the first rule of our society,—no discoveries told to ordinary members before the president hears them! And now let's get to business!" They all drew up before the cozy open fire.

"Oh, isn't this lovely!" sighed Corinne. She opened the old account-book and placed beside it a paper on which she had written the letters of the alphabet, and next to each the sign that appeared to stand for it.

"I had the worst time puzzling this out!" she said. "I worked and worked over it and changed them all around nearly forty times before I struck anything that seemed just right. But now I guess we've got it, at last! I'm sure 'a' is this perpendicular straight line, 'b' the rectangle with the bottom missing, 'c' the horizontal parallels—and so on. Now, as I've said, I've made out the first few sentences and they seem awfully strange! Here they are." She turned the paper over and read:

"'This is a house of mystery, and strange, unaccountable dread. I feel daily that something menaces me—that my life is not safe.'" A delicious shudder ran through the listening group.

"Oh, isn't this gorgeous!" half whispered Margaret. "It fills me with—with thrills!" Corinne went on:

"'Therefore I am keeping this little journal from time to time. Should aught evil befall me in this strange land and among these unfriendly people, at least I will leave some record whereby my own kin may trace my fate, perchance, at some future day. I dare not write this out in good English lest it be discovered by those who hate me. So I have invented this secret code, whereof none save myself knows the key. This book I found in the library unused and I have taken it. I trust it will be counted no act of thievery. I keep it hidden in the false bottom of my trunk. The key of the code I have put in another spot. As soon as my memory has mastered it, I will destroy it. 'Tis safer.'—And that's as far as I got!" ended Corinne.

For a moment they all sat dumb with amazement.

"What do you make of it?" exclaimed Bess. "Who is it,—a man or a woman? When was it written, and where? Why, I'm just wild to find out all about it!"

"I confess," admitted Corinne, "that I don't know what to make of it. I've puzzled and puzzled over it all day—"

"But, good gracious!" interrupted the impatient Margaret, "of course we can't make anything out of it till we've worked out some more! Come ahead! Right now! We're only wasting time talking about it!"

"That's so!" laughed Corinne. "And when we can find out right away, by getting to work! Here, Margaret! You write, while I spell the thing out!" She thrust the paper and pencil into Margaret's hands, while the twins hung over her as she slowly deciphered the sentences:

"'Would—that—I—had—never—left—my—peaceful—Bermuda—'" Corinne dropped the book suddenly.

"Bermuda!—I've been there! Oh, this is fine!"

"Have you been to Bermuda?" exclaimed Margaret and the twins, with awe. "When?"

"Last winter, with Father. He was ill, and we stayed six weeks. It was heavenly!"

"You lucky girl!" sighed Margaret. "But, go on! We must find out more, right away!"

Corinne took up the book and began anew: "'But since I did wilfully abandon my home—aye!—and Grandfather, too, even though he does not love me—'"

"'Grandfather'?" interrupted Bess. "He can't be very old, if he has a grandfather living!"

"Doesn't seem likely," murmured Corinne, spelling out another word under her breath, then continuing:

"'—and did in venturesome manner contribute my aid to the plot against my country, I must pay the price, I fear. I am watched constantly. I take no walk abroad, even in the grounds, but I feel that I am spied upon. The affection of Madame M. has changed to dislike. She, too, suspects me. 'Tis hard for a lass of but sixteen—'"

"A lass!" shouted all four. "And only sixteen!"

"Oh, girls!" cried Corinne, rocking back and forth in her excitement. "She's just like ourselves—only a year older than I am! What can be the trouble—or rather, what could have been the trouble with the poor little thing?"

"Go on! go on!" ordered Margaret, with glistening eyes. "Let's find out!"

Corinne snatched up the book again: "'to be alone and friendless in a strange land and to feel so constantly in danger. But I must not complain. I brought it on myself. As I have said, Madame M. no longer appears to care for me. She was so cordial and affectionate at first, partly for Aunt's sake, no doubt, and partly because she really seemed to like me. But since the day when I spoke to Lady ——, at the time her coach broke down, Madame M. has regarded me only with suspicion.'"

"I wish I knew who 'Madame M.' was, and 'Lady Blank,'" put in Margaret. "How mysterious she is—never writing out their full names!"

"Perhaps she didn't dare," said Corinne. "You see, she says she's in danger. But, oh!—listen to what she says next!—'There is something which weighs right heavily on my conscience. 'Tis the matter of the sapphire signet. But of that I will speak later.'"

"The sapphire signet!" breathed the twins in a tone of hushed awe. "Doesn't it sound rich and gorgeous and—and mysterious! What's a 'signet,' anyway?"

"I think," explained Corinne, "that it's another name for a seal—something with a monogram or crest or coat-of-arms, used to stamp on sealing-wax. Father has one set in a ring—not a sapphire though—just some ordinary stone with his monogram on. He never uses it, but he told me once that in former times they were used a great deal when letters were only sealed with wax. Oh! what do you suppose this matter of the sapphire signet is all about! Isn't it wildly exciting? But, goodness!" glancing at her watch, "it's awfully late again, and I must get home. The time goes so fast, and it takes so long to puzzle all this out!"

"I have an idea!" began Margaret, hesitatingly. "Suppose I do the puzzling out and write it down, now that Corinne has discovered the way. I have so much time that I don't know what to do with, and this would be so interesting! Then, when we meet again in a couple of days, I could read it right off to you without any trouble. We could get on so much faster!"

"I think that's splendid!" agreed Corinne. "And much as I'm crazy to find out right away what happens, I'd rather wait and hear a lot of it read at once. Wouldn't you all?"

"Yes, that's a good scheme," admitted Bess, "except for one thing. How about Sarah? You'd have a hard time hiding this from her, Margaret, and you know she simply mustn't find out!" For a moment they all looked "stumped." The obstacle seemed almost insuperable, when Jess had a brilliant idea.

"Tell you what! We'll hide the thing in the bookcase, way back here behind these old encyclopedias,—the account-book, the paper, and a brand-new fat blank-book that I'll give you to do all the copying in. You can tell Sarah to wheel you over to the bookcase because you want to read. Then, when she's out of the way, you can work to your heart's content. But do hide everything whenever you hear her coming!"

"Oh, good! Just the thing! Sarah'll never suspect in the world!" laughed Margaret. "And there's no difficulty about hearing her coming—she weighs two hundred and fifty pounds!"

"Well, that's settled then," said Corinne, "and I'll have to go. But I'm coming day after to-morrow, if I can manage to wait. It's better than the loveliest book I ever read! Good-by!"

When she had gone, the three sisters sat and looked at one another with an expression of sheer wonder on their faces. In one week, through the agency of this same "queer," quiet girl, their absolutely uninteresting and commonplace lives had been transformed into an unbelievable round of mystery and discovery and romance. And the strange part of it was that this same mystery had been lying here—right under their noses, so to speak—all these years, and they had never even suspected it, while she had been in the house scarcely half an hour and had run it straight to earth! Some such thought was in Margaret's mind when she presently exclaimed:

"Isn't she just wonderful! I think she's the most interesting person I ever met in my life!"

"So do I!" echoed Jess.

"Oh, I shall just dream of this all night!" whispered Margaret. "It's the most thrilling thing I ever heard of—this puzzle-story—and the best of it is, it's all our own. We discovered it! To-morrow you may envy me, girls, for I'll be finding out—all about the sapphire signet, and what happened next!"

CHAPTER V
"THE LASS OF RICHMOND HILL"

Two afternoons later, the three active members of the Antiquarian Club rushed up the stoop of the Charlton Street house in a breathless scurry. And Margaret awaited them in the parlor in a fever of no less eager excitement.

"Hurry, girls!" she cried when the first greetings were over. "I've just got heaps to read to you! And some of it'll make you 'sit up and take notice,' as Alexander says!"

"Who's Alexander?" queried Corinne, curiously.

"Oh, he's a boy-cousin who lives with us," Bess enlightened her. "He was Mother's sister's child, and his parents are both dead now, so Mother had him come here a year or two ago. He's twelve years old and a perfect nuisance! He hates girls, so he generally keeps out of our way. That's why you've never seen him. But, come on! I'm wild to hear what's coming next! Margaret wouldn't tell us a single thing she's found out."

"Wait a minute before we begin," spoke up Corinne, "and let's just run over what we've already discovered. It'll keep us from getting mixed up. A young girl of sixteen has run away from her home in Bermuda, and is in some place where she thinks her life is in danger. Before she ran away, she did something to assist in some plot against her country (which must be Bermuda), and probably that's one reason why she is in danger. Maybe something's been discovered about it. She's staying with a Madame M., and it seems to be a house of mystery.

"One thing I have pretty well guessed, and probably so have you all—that this must have happened a long time ago. Her language isn't very—well, modern—sounds to me like stories I've read about old England, and America too in former times. I think it's likely she's in one of those two countries when she writes—probably England, because she speaks of 'Madame M.' and 'Lady Blank,' and those titles don't somehow go with America. Then there's something strange about a sapphire signet. But go on now, Margaret! Maybe you've discovered something new!"

Margaret smiled mysteriously. "Perhaps just a few things!" she admitted. "Here's where we left off. I've copied it all from the beginning. You remember where she tells about explaining the signet later? Now I'll go on:

"There is something strange and evil about this house. I can trust no one. Especially do I mistrust the steward. He hath a sleek smile and ingratiating manners, but he is wicked to the heart of him. He associates much with one Corbie, who keeps the tavern down the road hard by the woods. Corbie has been to this house, and once was closeted long with the steward. When he came forth to go, he gazed hard at me as I stood on the lawn. It made me shudder for an hour afterward."

"That's the first name she has mentioned—'Corbie,'" interrupted Corinne. "Let's remember it. Who knows but it may help us?"

"There's another coming right away," added Margaret, "though I don't know whether it will be of any help or not.

"But one thing has happened lately to cheer me. Two nights ago I went to my room, which does not look toward the river, but toward the back of the house. I was minded to retire early, having naught to occupy me through the long evening. Madame M. retires at nine, but I never see her after the evening meal. She is usually in conference with the steward, who has chief charge of the affairs of this great house. She appears to place much confidence in him. But that is not to the point.

"I had opened my window and was leaning out a moment when I heard a softly whistled tune, and knew that H. was there. For the tune he ever whistles is 'The Lass of Richmond Hill,' which he declared, when first he brought me here, was right appropriate to me now."

"I wonder why?" queried Jess.

"I can't imagine," answered Corinne; "'lass' she certainly is, but what has 'Richmond Hill' to do with it? What is 'Richmond Hill,' and where?"

"Mother has a friend who lives in Richmond Hill, Long Island," ventured Bess.

"Oh, that can't be it!" declared Corinne, scornfully. "That's only a little new suburb that's hardly been in existence thirty years! It has nothing whatever to do with this! And I wonder who 'H.' is, too. Well, go on, Margaret."

Margaret obediently continued:

"At hearing him, my heart did beat gladly, for he is the one person I have seen who reminds me of home. I leaned far out and called to him softly, and presently he threw into my window a letter weighted with a stone. It said he and his uncle had not been back to Bermuda, nor would they dare to go for many a long day. One of their traitorous sailors had divulged the plot, and the authorities were wild only to lay hands on them. This they had learned in roundabout fashion. They had been cruising along the coast lately, and had had not a few adventures. They were sailing at midnight for parts unknown. He did but come up hastily to see how I fared, before they left.

"In a moment I threw down an answering missive, telling of my present plight, and begging that he and his uncle would take me back to Bermuda should they ever be sailing there again. That was all I had time for, since he knew he dared not linger. He went away silently into the night. 'Twas brave of him to come, since he knows it would be ill for him to be seen hereabout, now that so much seems to have been discovered."

"He gazed hard at me as I stood on the lawn"

Margaret paused here and half whispered: "Hold your breath now, girls! We're coming to the sapphire signet!" Then she went on with the reading:

"I must now explain about the sapphire signet. Night after night I lie awake and ask myself why I ever took it—why I was ever tempted to add this mistake to the rest of my misdoings. At the time it seemed no wrong,—nay, it seemed entirely right that I should take with me what Grandfather has so often said was mine, though he deemed it safer not to allow me to have it in my keeping till I should come of age.

"'Tis such a pretty bauble—this wonderful blue stone larger than my thumb-nail, with our family crest graved on it and set all round the edge with tiny, sparkling diamonds. Grandfather told me that the sapphire was once in a great ring, and from generation to generation had been handed down to the eldest son of the family. He said, moreover, that it ever should have remained a ring; that 'twas a crime it should have been changed. But 'twas my mother's whim that it should be taken from the ring, set round with diamonds, and made into an ornament for her neck. He said that once, when they were in London not long after their marriage, she wheedled my father into having it changed, and came home to Bermuda with the jewel hanging from a slender chain about her white throat. And Grandfather was filled with wrath at her and never forgave her. Had I been a boy, he says, he would have had the stone reset in a ring. But since the only heir to it is a girl, he has allowed it to remain thus, and once scornfully told me that 'twas 'as useless now as I was,' and might as well so remain.

"On rare occasions, Grandfather has let me wear it—once to a grand tea-drinking at St. George's, where 'twas much admired. But mainly he has kept it in his great strong box. It seemed no harm that day for me to take it. The box stood invitingly open. The jewel was really mine, and I possessed no other ornament. Even then I realized that I might never see my home or Grandfather again. So I took it—Heaven forgive me!—thinking it no wrong. But I have come to feel differently since. In these long, lonely months, when I have had so much time to think and to regret, I can see how this act of mine must appear to Grandfather and to all who know me. Even though it was in effect my own, it was still in his keeping, and I should never have taken it without his consent. I dare not even wonder what he must think of me, and I live only for the opportunity to return home and place the signet in his hands.

"From the very first I have never dared openly to wear the beautiful thing; and since my conscience began to trouble me, I have never wished to. Long since, I removed it from its velvet riband and concealed it. Nor must I, even here, disclose where it is hidden. To do so would be neither safe nor wise. Suffice it that I will never more wear the bauble till I have restored it to its rightful keeper, my grandfather."

Margaret paused again, and there was a blissful sigh from all her assembled listeners.

"Isn't it the most fascinating thing—this sapphire signet business?" exclaimed Corinne, at last. "I can just imagine how the poor girl felt. She hadn't meant any harm in taking it—it had seemed perfectly right. And then her conscience got to troubling her till she hadn't a peaceful minute! But where in the world could she have hidden it? Does it tell later on, Margaret?"

"Not that I've discovered as yet, but there are a lot of other interesting things—"

"Go on, go on then!" chorused the waiting three, impatient of anything that broke the thread of the story.

"Well, the next seems to be written some time later, but I can't tell how much. This is something like a diary, only she doesn't put down any dates. She just seems to leave spaces between the different entries. It's kind of confusing. Now she says:

"A strange thing happened last night. At midnight I awoke. I heard confused sounds on the road without. Carts creaking by, men shouting and calling, women crying, and children screaming as with fright. The sounds continued till near morning. An endless procession of carts and coaches. 'Twould seem as though the whole city were in flight. 'Twas odd to hear so much racket in this quiet region.

"To-day the whole household is in agitation. Fear seems to have seized on all. The servants are in a panic. Only the steward seems undisturbed. Madame M. is calm in manner, but I can see that she is much perturbed inwardly."

"What in the world could have been happening?" demanded Bess. "She speaks of the 'city.' I wonder what city, and what was the matter? Why should every one be leaving it?"

"I've been thinking all along that she was somewhere in England," suggested Corinne, "though I can't imagine what part. Anyway—"

"Wait!" cried Margaret. "Why don't you let me go on?"

"That's so!" agreed Corinne. "It's foolish not to see what's coming before we try to make sense of it. Go on!"