Chapter 7

THE SECRET KEY

"Is Lady Trevlyn at home, Bedford?" asked Paul, as he presented himself
at an early hour next day, wearing the keen, stern expression which made
him look ten years older than he was.

"No, sir, my lady and Miss Lillian went down to the Hall last night."

"No ill news, I hope?" And the young man's eye kindled as if he felt a
crisis at hand.

"Not that I heard, sir. Miss Lillian took one of her sudden whims and
would have gone alone, if my lady hadn't given in much against her will,
this being a time when she is better away from the place."

"Did they leave no message for me?"

"Yes, sir. Will you step in and read the note at your ease. We are in
sad confusion, but this room is in order."

Leading the way to Lillian's boudoir, the man presented the note and
retired. A few hasty lines from my lady, regretting the necessity of
this abrupt departure, yet giving no reason for it, hoping they might
meet next season, but making no allusion to seeing him at the Hall,
desiring Lillian's thanks and regards, but closing with no hint of
Helen, except compliments. Paul smiled as he threw it into the fire,
saying to himself, "Poor lady, she thinks she has escaped the danger by
flying, and Lillian tries to hide her trouble from me. Tender little
heart! I'll comfort it without delay."

He sat looking about the dainty room still full of tokens of her
presence. The piano stood open with a song he liked upon the rack; a bit
of embroidery, whose progress he had often watched, lay in her basket
with the little thimble near it; there was a strew of papers on the
writing table, torn notes, scraps of drawing, and ball cards; a
pearl-colored glove lay on the floor; and in the grate the faded flowers
he had brought two days before. As his eye roved to and fro, he seemed
to enjoy some happy dream, broken too soon by the sound of servants
shutting up the house. He arose but lingered near the table, as if
longing to search for some forgotten hint of himself.

"No, there has been enough lock picking and stealthy work; I'll do no
more for her sake. This theft will harm no one and tell no tales." And
snatching up the glove, Paul departed.

"Helen, the time has come. Are you ready?" he asked, entering her room
an hour later.

"I am ready." And rising, she stretched her hand to him with a proud
expression, contrasting painfully with her helpless gesture.

"They have gone to the Hall, and we must follow. It is useless to wait
longer; we gain nothing by it, and the claim must stand on such proof as
we have, or fall for want of that one link. I am tired of disguise. I