chest for the bag while a single soul was about. That would be impossible; that might be--to bring ruin to Sydney. She could not take the risk--she would not; the only thing to be done was that she should go and get it now.

She got out of bed to get it. She did not switch on the light. A grey gleam was coming through the sides of her blinds; the morning was come; there would be light enough for her to see. Her foot hurt, but it was not so painful as it had been; she could move on it, enough to serve her purpose. She got into her dressing-gown and she went to the door of her room. CHAPTER XIX The Two Women

Curiously quiet the house seemed to be as, in the cold, grey light, Violet Forster made the best of her way along the passage. At the head of the great staircase she paused; now it was possible to see; she wondered which was the stair on which, in the darkness, she had caught her heel in her draperies and stumbled. Her ankle was better, yet, in spite of the caution with which she descended, it gave her a twinge at every tread. How comfortless, how even ghostly the great hall seemed, as the first glimmer of the day came shimmeringly through the painted windows!

At the foot of the stairs she stopped--to listen. A curious quality which was in the air seemed to affect her nerves, which were already sufficiently highly strung; she was affected by the feeling which she had had in the darkness that there was someone in the hall already. She went out into it to look about her; there was no one to be seen, certainly nothing to be heard; she told herself that it was utter nonsense to suppose that anybody was watching her. It was not yet broad day, but there was light enough to render it difficult for anyone to keep from being seen, unless someone was cowering down behind one of the tall chairs, or hiding behind a hanging. She had a mind to search behind each piece of furniture, behind each curtain; she might have done it, too, had it not been that her foot rendered movement very far from easy. Ordinarily she would have peered into every nook and cranny in a dozen seconds; it might take her minutes as things were.Realising that her doubts meant waste of time, she moved towards the chest under its velvet cover. She lifted the cover, had it nearly off, was about to raise the lid when--was that a sound? With one hand upon the velvet, the other on the chest, she stood and listened; this time her fancy was not playing her tricks, it was a sound. Someone was coming down the stairs, quickly, yet quietly--who could it be? On the instant she let the cover fall back into its place; with a rapidity of which a moment before she had not 

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