The Clock Struck One. Fergus Hume

him?"

      "If Mr. Edermont is the man I take him to be, I can. But I shall not tell you, Miss Dora."

      "Why not?"

      The housekeeper shuddered.

      "I dare not," she said in a trembling tone. "Oh, my dear, why did you come to-day? I know much, but I dare not speak."

      "Is your knowledge so very terrible?"

      "It is more terrible than you can guess."

      "Does Mr. Edermont know as much as you do?"

      "Mr.--Edermont," said the housekeeper, with a pause before the name, "knows more than I do."

      "I do not see why I should be kept in the dark," said Dora petulantly. "All that concerns Allen concerns me."

      "In that case," observed Mrs. Tice calmly, "I can only recommend you to wait until Mr. Allen returns. If he chooses to tell you, well and good; but for my part, I prefer to keep silent about the past."

      "But is that fair to me, Mrs. Tice?"

      "Silence is more than fair to you in this case," said the old dame, looking steadily at the eager face of the young girl. "It is merciful."

      "Merciful? That is a strange word to use."

      "It is the only word that can be used," replied Mrs. Tice emphatically. "No, do not ask me any more, my dear young lady. The secret I hold is not my own to tell. Should Mr. Allen give me permission to reveal it, I shall do so; otherwise I prefer to be silent."

      One would have thought that this speech was final; but Dora was too bent upon learning the truth of Allen's strange behaviour to be satisfied. She urged, she cajoled, she threatened, she implored, but all to no purpose. Whatever it was that Mrs. Tice knew detrimental to the past of Mr. Edermont, she was determined to keep it to herself. Evidently there was nothing left but to wait until Allen returned. From experience Dora knew that she could wheedle anything out of her easy-going lover.

      "Do you know anything about Lady Burville?" asked Dora, finding she could not persuade Mrs. Tice into confessing what she knew.

      "I know nothing--not even the name," said the housekeeper. "Why do you ask?"

      "Because Lady Burville has something to do with the quarrel between Mr. Edermont and Allen."

      "I can safely say that I know nothing on that point, Miss Carew. Lady Burville is a complete stranger to me, and, I should say, to Mr. Allen. I have never heard him speak of her."

      "But Mr. Edermont knows her."

      "Very probably. Mr. Edermont knows many people I am unacquainted with. You must remember, Miss Carew, that there is a vast difference between the position of a gentleman and that of a housekeeper."

      "Then, Lady Burville has nothing to do with Mr. Edermont's past?"

      "So far as I know she has not," replied Mrs. Tice promptly. "I don't know everything, my dear young lady."

      "Can you guess the cause of this quarrel?"

      "Yes. I told you so before; but I cannot speak of it."

      "Do you fancy that Mr. Edermont told Allen this secret you speak of?"

      Mrs. Tice made no immediate reply, but smoothed her silken apron with trembling hands. At length she said:

      "I do not know. I trust he did not. But if he did speak----"

      "Yes, Mrs. Tice," said Dora eagerly, "if he did speak?"

      The housekeeper drew a long breath. "If he did speak," she repeated, "you will never--never--never become the wife of Allen Scott."

       CHAPTER V.

      MR. EDERMONT'S HIGH SPIRITS.

      After that extraordinary conversation with Allen's housekeeper, Dora returned home more mystified than ever. Like everyone else, Mrs. Tice hinted at secrets of the past likely to affect the future, yet refused any explanation of such hints. Edermont and Joad acted in the same unsatisfactory way, and Allen, to avoid questioning, absented himself from her presence. It was all very tiresome, she thought, and perfectly inexplicable. Only one fact stood out clearly in Dora's mind, namely, that Lady Burville was responsible for all this confusion; therefore, she argued, Lady Burville must hold the clue to a possible disentanglement. This was logical.

      Had Dora obeyed the impulse of her nature, she would have gone directly to the cause of these perplexities and have demanded an unravelment. She would have put her questions in the crudest form, thus:

      "My guardian was moved by the sight of you, and he orders me to avoid you. Your name formed the gist of conversation between my guardian and my lover, with the result that Mr. Edermont tells me I shall never marry Allen. Mrs. Tice, who is ignorant of your inexplicable influence, asserts the same thing; and the creature Joad hints that you knew Allen's father. On the surface these matters appear to be disconnected and incoherent; but I feel certain that a word from you will render them explicable. You must say that word to me, since it is upon me that the trouble you have created has descended."

      So Dora thought, ranging the facts in such vague order as her ignorance permitted; but as she did not know Lady Burville, and had no plausible excuse for seeking her, she was forced to remain in ignorance for want of the explanation which she felt sure the woman could have supplied.

      In her present dilemma, Dora, with her usual good sense, recognised that there was nothing to be done but to remain quiescent, and wait. Later on Allen would return from London--indeed, Mrs. Tice expected him back that day--and then he would be forced to explain his conduct. That explanation might put the matter in a plain light, and do away with the fiats of Mrs. Tice and Edermont regarding the impossibility of her marriage with Allen. Come what might, Dora was resolved that she would not give up her lover and spoil her life. But, pending explanation and resultant adjustment of the situation, she held her peace, and waited. The future was--the future. Dora knew no more than that.

      For a week after that day of mysteries, life progressed as usual at the Red House. Joad came and went with his usual punctuality, and eyed Dora in a furtive manner, with a distinct avoidance of explanation. Edermont recovered his nerve to some extent, and moved in his accustomed petty orbit; and Dora, lacking other interests, attended to her household duties. To a casual spectator, all things would seem to be going on as usual, the life would have appeared tranquil and dull; but this was but surface calm. Beneath, dangerous elements were at work, which later on were destined to--but it is no use to recur to the hackneyed simile of a sleeping volcano.

      All these seven days nothing was heard of Lady Burville or of Allen. The former still continued to be a guest at Hernwood Hall, the latter still remained in London. Not a line had been received from him by Dora, and, hurt in her maidenly pride, she became offended by his continued silence. Whatever extraneous circumstances had led to his behaviour, she had not caused the breach--for breach she considered it--between them. Twice or thrice she had determined to go over to Canterbury and question Mrs. Tice, but pride withheld her. She remained at the Red House, waiting, waiting, and waiting. What else could she do?

      Mention has been made of the high wall which surrounded the mansion of Mr. Edermont. This had been built by himself, and contained only two entrances, one from the road--a tall gate with spikes on the top--the other, a little door far down the right side. The house itself, like these gates, was kept always bolted and barred, and Mr. Edermont confessed to a fear of robbers. But, bearing in mind his particular prayer in the Litany, Dora was certain in her own mind that a greater fear than this moved him to take such precautions.

      When Joad had retired to his cottage at nine o'clock, Mr. Edermont accompanied him personally to the gates, and saw that they were bolted and barred. Afterwards he examined the side postern, and then retreated to the mansion, where he closed the iron-clamped shutters and locked every door throughout the house. The woman who cooked and cleaned, and did all the work, was locked up in the kitchen, with