Margaret was far from well, even for her. For two weeks she had been ailing, and appeared weak and listless. Corinne was not very much surprised on coming in one afternoon to find her no longer in her wheel-chair by the parlor window, but upstairs in bed in her room on the second floor. This had never happened before since the day that Corinne had first visited the little house in Charlton Street, and her heart misgave her as she climbed the stairs with the twins. But she entered the room, assuming a cheerfulness she was far from feeling.

"Taking a vacation in bed, Honey? Well, I don't blame you, in such wretched weather! It was sleeting and freezing as I came in, and the walking is simply abominable. How cozy210 you are here with another open fire! You seem to have one in every room. I wish we did!"

Margaret greeted her with something of her old animation, but presently relapsed into listlessness again. Corinne chatted on for a time, as though nothing out of the ordinary were the matter:

"I've got some news from the latest member of the Antiquarian Club! He has a proposition to make. He says that when the first nice spring weather comes, he's going to invite the club to a series of 'antiquarian outings.' They're to take place every pleasant Saturday afternoon. He will have a big, comfy automobile come here, and we're all to pile in,—Margaret in the comfiest place of all,—and we're going to 'do' old New York—the real, historic parts, I mean. One day we'll take a run up to Van Cortlandt Manor, and see that place, which was Washington's headquarters at one time. Then another day we'll do the lower part of the city, and have lunch at Fraunces' Tavern. And, oh! he's211 planned a lot of things like that. It's going to be great fun, I tell you!"

But Margaret failed to be roused to any extent even by this delightful prospect, though the twins were thoroughly enthusiastic. At last, when Bess and Jess had gone downstairs to investigate the refreshment proposition, Corinne determined to fathom, if possible, the curious apathy that seemed so new to Margaret.

"Honey, dear," she crooned, sitting on the bed-side and putting her face down by Margaret, "something's bothering you, and I want you to tell me what it is! Something's troubling your mind. Can't you tell me about it, dear, even if you haven't any one else?"

Margaret raised herself on her elbow and faced Corinne. "Yes, something is bothering me," she acknowledged, "and no one but you has seemed to notice it. But I'm going to tell you, Corinne, because I love you, and I haven't any secrets from you. I'm just worried sick because that journal was destroyed! It was my fault. I'm responsible for it all!212 It might have been very valuable, and been sold for a good deal of money. And that would have helped Mother a lot, because we're not very well off, and she has to work awfully hard!"

"But, Margaret," exclaimed Corinne, "this is all nonsense! Of course, it's unfortunate that the thing happened, but you can't even blame Sarah, for she didn't know it was anything of value, and she thought she was acting for the best, and saving you from getting sick. Nobody's to blame! It's just one of those unlucky things that happen sometimes. It isn't as if you or any one else had been careless about it!"

"But you don't understand me!" insisted Margaret. "It was my fault, because I kept insisting that this thing should be a secret, and nobody else was to be told. It was terribly foolish—I can see that plainly now! And I never should have kept such a valuable thing in such an insecure place. We ought to have shown it at once to your father and let him keep it. Oh, I'll never forgive myself—never,213 never!" She turned her face into the pillows and lay a long time silent,—not crying, but just in an apathy of self-reproach.

Corinne, meanwhile, argued and pleaded and consoled—in vain. Margaret would neither look up nor respond. And at last, in despair, she exclaimed:

"Margaret, I want to tell you something Father said last night. It may make you feel better about this very thing. He said that even though the original journal was destroyed, that didn't alter the fact that we youngsters had made a most remarkable 'find,' and had discovered a mystery that was well worth tracking to its finish. He says he's proud to be a member of the Antiquarian Club, and hopes you haven't let any one else into the secret. He wants it kept quiet till we've fathomed the riddle, if we ever do! You haven't told any one yet, have you?"

Margaret raised her head, at this, with a faint spark of interest. "No, I haven't even told Mother," she said, "because I hated to have her know how near we'd been to finding214 something valuable, and then disappointing her by saying it was lost. Of course, we've told her all about your father's visit, and she thought he was so kind to take such an interest in us. She said she supposed it was for your sake. Sarah has never said another word, even to me, about the things she burned up. I think she's half ashamed of it, and yet feels that she really did right in taking away something that she supposed was hurting me. She's awfully worried because I don't seem so well, and she's almost killing herself taking care of me and doing all her other work, too. But, Corinne, did your father say he'd really like this all kept a secret still? That's awfully nice of him, and makes what I did seem not quite so foolish! I believe I'll feel a little better about it from now on!"

Margaret certainly appeared to improve in spirits after this interview, but still her bodily strength did not return, and day after day she remained confined to her bed. Her mother and Sarah grew almost ill themselves with anxiety about her. The doctor said it was the215 drain of the winter on her frail system, and prescribed a strong tonic, but even this did not seem to have the desired effect. But Corinne came in one day with news that actually brought a tint of pale pink to the little invalid's white cheeks.

"Father's been doing some tall thinking lately," she announced, "and this is the result. He wants me to submit the matter to the Antiquarian Club for due consideration, and would like every member present when I do so. Where are the others?"

The twins and Alexander were promptly gathered into Margaret's room, and Corinne continued:

"This is what Father's been puzzling over. He says that sapphire signet must have been a very valuable thing, and it ought to be found, if there's the slightest possibility of finding it. He knows a lot about precious stones and their history, and he says that a sapphire signet, especially an old one, is a very rare thing. The reason is that sapphires are so hard that it's very difficult to engrave them, and so signets216 were not very often made of them. So, if this signet were found, it would probably be worth a great deal of money. But, more than that, he thinks we owe it as a duty to the memory of little Alison to make some effort, at least, to find it and restore it to her descendants or family, if she has any left."

"That's what I've always thought, too!" murmured Margaret, parenthetically.

"Well, he says he's been doing some 'Sherlock Holmes' thinking, and trying to imagine where she could possibly have concealed that trinket. He doesn't think she kept it hidden about herself anywhere. She would probably have thought that too dangerous, for she might have been searched. And he can't bring himself to think that she concealed it anywhere about the house or in the grounds,—there would have been such slight chance, in such a case, of it ever getting back to Bermuda, or her relatives ever having a chance to find it. But he did wonder whether it might have been hidden in the secret beam with the other half217 of the journal. You would surely have found it, then, wouldn't you, Alexander?"

"Bet your life!" replied that youngster, promptly. "If that dinky little do-dab had been in there, yours truly would have cabbaged it all right! I knew well enough it was my last chance at that old dump, and I clawed over every square inch of it a dozen times before I rung off. No sirree! it wasn't there, and you can take your Uncle Dudley's wo............