big study, while Simmonds went to seek his mistress.

But there was Lady Rose turning round from the bookcase as they came in.
Mr. Murray stooped to-day, and his large head was bent downwards, making
it the more evident that the drops of perspiration stood out upon his
brow. He cast a look almost of fear at the fair face with its gentle,
benignant expression. He had seen Rose once or twice before, and he knew
the old-fashioned type of great lady when he met it. Was it of Rose's
gentle, subtle dignity that he was afraid?

Rose drew up a chair on one side of the big square writing-table, and
signed to him to take the leather arm-chair where he had last seen Sir
David Bright seated. Mr. Murray plunged into his subject with an
abruptness proportioned to the immense time he had taken during the
morning in preparing a diplomatic opening.

"May I ask, first of all," he said, "whether you have found any will, or
any document looking like a will, besides the one I have with me?"

"No," said Lady Rose in surprise, "there are no papers of any
importance here, I believe; there is nothing in the house under lock and
key. Sir David gave me a few rings and studs to put away, but he never
cared for jewellery, and there is nothing of value."

"And do you think he can have executed any other will or written a
letter that might be of use to us now?"

Rose looked still more surprised. Mr. Murray held some papers in his
hand that shook as if the wintry wind outside were trying to blow them
away. Rose tried not to watch them, and it teased her that she could not