rested peacefully on the deep, shadowy vistas, and her foot fell with
just pride on the splendid rising sweep of the staircase. They passed
into the roomy vault of the upper hall and went down to the end. She took
out a big key from her pocket and fitted it into the lock; then Vance
dropped his hand on her arm. His voice lowered.

"You've made a mistake, Elizabeth. This is Father's room."

Ever since his death it had been kept unchanged, and practically
unentered save for an occasional rare day of work to keep it in order.
Now she nodded and resolutely turned the key and swung the door open.
Vance went in with an exclamation of wonder. It was quite changed from
the solemn old room and the brown, varnished woodwork which he
remembered. Cream-tinted paint now made the walls cool and fresh. The
solemn engravings no longer hung above the bookcases. And the bookcases
themselves had been replaced with built-in shelves pleasantly filled with
rich bindings, black and red and deep yellow-browns. A tall cabinet stood
open at one side filled with rifles and shotguns of every description,
and another cabinet was loaded with fishing apparatus. The stiff-backed
chairs had given place to comfortable monsters of easy lines. Vance
Cornish, as one in a dream, peered here and there.

"God bless us!" he kept repeating. "God bless us! But where's there a
trace of Father?"

"I left it out," said Elizabeth huskily, "because this room is meant
for--but let's go back. Do you remember that day twenty-four years ago
when we took Jack Hollis's baby?"

"When _you_ took it," he corrected. "I disclaim all share in the idea."