Porthgenna fishermen, who had been lost
with their boat at sea, and whose deaths
had thrown the whole village into mourning.
The servants had done nothing but
talk of the catastrophe ever since the
intelligence of it had reached them, early in
the afternoon; and Mr. Munder now thought
it his duty to explain that the absence of the
villagers, on the occasion of the arrival of
his master and mistress, was entirely attributable
to the effect produced among the little
community by the wreck of the fishing boat.
Under any less lamentable circumstances, the
west terrace would have been crowded, and
the appearance of the carriage would have
been welcomed with cheers.

"Lenny, I almost wish we had waited a
little longer, before we came here," whispered
Rosamond, nervously pressing her husband's
arm. "It is very dreary and disheartening
to return to my first home on such a day as
this. That story of the poor fishermen is a
sad story, love, to welcome me back with to
the place of my birth. Let us send the first
thing to-morrow morning, and see what we
can do for the poor helpless women and
children. I shall not feel easy in my mind,
after hearing that story, till we have done
something to comfort them."

"I trust you will approve of the repairs,
ma'am," said the housekeeper, pointing to the
staircase which led to the second storey.

"The repairs?" said Rosamond, absently.
"Repairs! I never hear the word now, without
thinking of the north rooms, and of the
plans we devised for getting my poor dear
father to live in them. Mrs. Pentreath, I have
a host of questions to ask you and Mr. Munder,
about all the extraordinary things that
happened when that mysterious lady and that
incomprehensible foreigner came to see the
house. But tell me first—this is the west
front, I suppose?—how far are we, here, from
the north rooms? I mean, how long would
it take us to get to them, if we wanted to go
now to that part of the house?"

"Oh, dear me, ma'am, not five minutes!"
answered Mrs. Pentreath.

"Not five minutes!" repeated Rosamond,
whispering to her husband again. "Do you
hear that, Lenny? In five minutes we might
be in the Myrtle Room!"

"Yet," said Mr. Frankland, smiling, "in our
present state of ignorance, we are just as far
from it, as if we were at West Winston still!"

"I can't think that, Lenny. It may be only
my fancy, but now we are on the spot, I feel
as if we had driven the mystery into its last
hiding place. We are actually in the house that
holds the secret; and nothing will persuade
me that we are not half way already towards
finding it out. But don't let us stop on this cold
landing. Which way are we to go next?"

"This way, ma'am," said Mr. Munder, seizing
the first opportunity of placing himself
in a prominent position. "There is a fire in
the drawing room. Will you allow me the
honour of leading and conducting you, sir, to
the apartment in question?" he added, officiously
stretching out his hand to Mr. Frankland.

"Certainly not!" interposed Rosamond,
sharply.  She had noticed with her usual
quickness of observation, that Mr. Munder
wanted the delicacy of feeling which ought to
have restrained him from staring curiously at
his blind master, in her presence; and she
was unfavourably disposed towards him in
consequence.  "Wherever the apartment in
question may happen to be," she continued
with satirical emphasis, "I will lead Mr.
Frankland to it, if you please. If you want
to make yourself useful, you had better go on
before us, and open the door."

Outwardly crest-fallen but inwardly indignant,
Mr. Munder led the way to the drawing-
room. The fire burned brightly, the old-
fashioned furniture displayed itself to the
most picturesque advantage, the paper on the
walls looked comfortably mellow, the carpet,
faded as it was, felt soft and warm underfoot.
Rosamond led her husband to an easy chair
by the fireside, and began to feel at home
for the first time.

"This looks really comfortable," she said.
"When we have shut out that dreary white
fog, and the candles are lit, and the tea is
on the table, we shall have nothing in the
world to complain of. You enjoy this nice
warm atmosphere, don't you, Lenny? There
is a piano in the room, my dear; I can play
to you in the evening at Porthgenna, just as
I used in London. Nurse, sit down and
make yourself and the baby as comfortable
as you can. Before we take our bonnets off,
I must go away with Mrs. Pentreath, and
see about the bedrooms. What is your name,
you very rosy, good-natured looking girl?
Betsey, is it? Well then, Betsey, suppose
you go down and get the tea; and we shall
like you all the better, if you can contrive to
bring us up some cold meat with it." Giving
her orders in those good-humoured terms,
and not noticing that her husband looked a
little uneasy while she was talking so
familiarly to a servant, Rosamond left the
room in company with Mrs. Pentreath.

When she returned, her face and manner
were altered: she looked and spoke seriously
and quietly.

"I hope I have arranged everything for
the best, Lenny," she said. "The airiest and
largest room, Mrs. Pentreath tells me, is
the room in which my mother died. But I
thought we had better not make use of that:
I felt as if it chilled and saddened me, only
to look at it. Further on, along the passage,
there is a room that was my nursery. I
almost fancied, when Mrs. Pentreath told
me she had heard I used to sleep there, that
I remembered the pretty little arched doorway
leading into the second room—the night-
nursery, it used to be called in former days,
I have ordered the fire to be lit there, and