"Come, Jane, stop chattering," said Lydia. "Maurice, run out at
once. You'll find me in the attics, Jane, when you've done. We'll get
well through the attics to-day."

Aunt Lydia turned on her heel, and Maurice and Cecile went slowly
out. Very slow, indeed, were Cecile's footsteps.

"How dull you are, Cecile!" said the little boy.

"I'm not very well," said Cecile. "Maurice," she continued suddenly,
"you go and play with Toby, darling. Go into the fields, and not too
far away; and don't stay out too late. Here's our lunch. No, I don't
want any. I'm going to lie down. Yes, maybe I'll come out again."

She ran away before Maurice had even time to expostulate. She was
conscious that a crisis had come, that a great dread was over her,
that there might yet be time to take the purse from its hiding place.

An inventory meant that every box was looked into, every cupboard
opened. What chance then had her purse in its tin box in a forgotten
cupboard? That cupboard would be opened at last, and her treasure
stolen away. Aunt Lydia was even now in the attics, or was she? Was
there any hope that Cecile might be in time to rescue the precious
purse?

She flew up the attic stairs, her heart beating, her head giddy. Oh!
if she might be in time!

Alas! she was not. Aunt Lydia was already in full possession of