"I am here.

"DIANA."

The lawyer frowned, bit his lip, then smiled, crumpling the note in his hand.

"My wife has arrived," he said, addressing the doctor.

"Ah, charming lady! I congratulate you."

Mr. Rockwood seemed to care very little about the congratulation, but said, briefly, "She'll be of use with Philip.

The

old man makes a fool of himself and him! "

"Case of monomania. No answering for pets. I've known people take a fancy to a rat. One of my patients went mad about a pig—would sit for hours scratching its back, and died when it died."

"Don't jest!" said Mr. Rockwood, im

patiently. "Things will move more swiftly now Diana is here. I wish the whole business was over," he added wearily. "Were it to do over again, I almost think, great as the stake is to win, I would have no part in it."

"Ha, ha! my poor friend," commented the pitiless and utterly impassible doctor. "Your liver is not right. When you begin to talk of conscience, I know it's liver. I am delighted at the arrival of Mrs. Rockwood. You will be none the worse for a tonic."

Another tap at the door, and the bent form of Daddy Darknoll came into the

room.

"Diana is here!" he said, addressing Rockwood. "I am pleased she has

come."

"I am going down to the lodge to see her," observed Rockwood, somewhat un

graciously; adding, still more ungraciously, "after luncheon."

The old man fixed his bead-like eyes for a moment with a fierce glitter upon the lawyer's sulky face, but it was for a moment only. The face resumed its venerable calm, and the voice was soft and unruffled.

"You need not disturb yourself. I am going there with Sir Philip." He emphasised the title as though he tasted it, and it savoured well in his mouth. "You can join us when-when you please."

"All right!" said the lawyer, evidently much relieved. "I sha'n't be long. Do the amiable, Daddy, and give my 'kindest.' You know."

"Yes, I know!" and with the false smile playing about his thin lips, and with the hunched back hunching itself still more, the old man, after a few words to the doctor, slunk out of the room.

"Deuced glad she's come!" said Mathew Rockwood, resuming his seat with much alacrity, and again attacking the wine. "A woman's the devil, they say, and she is— well, one of ten thousand!"

CHAPTER XXIII.

MRS. ROCKWOOD AGAIN APPEARS ON THE

SCENE.

THE lodge window commands a view of the Abbey,—that is to say, a portion of it—the turreted-roof and clock-tower standing high above the embowering trees. Strongly brought out by the flooding sunlight, which touches with glistening splendour each tall turret and quaint chimney, the old Abbey seems to bask in the golden light, and rejoice in the warmth of the sun.

From the lodge to the house stretches a