Ella Winter felt dull after her aunt's departure; the Hall seemed more lonely than ever. Although that estimable lady, Mrs. Toynbee, might do very well to fill the position of chaperon and housekeeper-in-chief, she could never be anything more to Miss Winter. Now it was that she missed the presence of Maria Kettle: who was still at Leamington with Mrs. Page. She heard from Maria often, but that was not like seeing her. One thing Ella could do, and did; she took an active interest in the welfare of Maria's school, and of the poor old people at whose cottages Maria was so frequent a visitor when at home. Ella did more than that, she instructed Philip Cleeve to draw up plans of a new wing for the school which she determined to build at her own expense, and as a welcome surprise for Maria when she should return.

Ella's thoughts often dwelt upon that promised visit to London which she was to pay Mrs. Carlyon. Previously to Conroy's visit to the Hall she had not looked forward to the visit with any particular pleasure. _Now_ she counted the number of days that intervened before she should start, and so see Conroy again. Though the time was not quite fixed, each morning when she awoke she said to herself, with a little shiver of happiness, "Another day nearer." Conroy had never spoken one word of love to her, yet in her heart lay a dim, blissful consciousness that she was dearer to him than all the world beside.

One day there came an invitation for herself and Mrs. Toynbee to dine at Homedale. Lady Cleeve did not choose that Philip should be dining here, there, and everywhere, and make no return for it. So she invited a few friends, taking the opportunity of Freddy Bootle's being at Nullington, that he might make one. Captain Lennox and his sister were included. Lady Cleeve knew little or nothing of them, but she knew how hospitable they were to Philip: and the Vicar of course was one of the party. Old Dr. Downes was laid up with the gout, and Mr. Tiplady was away: but Dr. Spreckley was there. It was a pleasant, informal gathering, and all felt at ease.

It was only necessary to bring Freddy Bootle into the presence of Ella for his old flame of love to leap suddenly into life again. This evening he could do little beyond sigh and look miserable, and polish his eyeglass perpetually. His usual flow of harmless small talk was as dried up as a mountain stream at midsummer.

"She's too completely lovely," he whispered to Philip more than once; while to Lennox he turned and said, "I've such a longing to-night to be able to write verses. Never had the feeling before. Only they would be awful rubbish, you know"--which very probably they would have been.

Lady Cleeve took quite a liking for Mrs. Ducie: who indeed charmed all without conscious effort. She was a great favourite with the Vicar, and after dinner he sat by her side for an hour. Philip's eyes were turned towards her very frequently, but his attentions to her were not more marked than those he paid to any other of his mother's guests.

"A pity poor old Downes could not be here!" remarked Captain Lennox to Miss Winter, in the course of the evening. "That gout is sure to attack one at an unseasonable time."

Ella smiled at the last sentence, as she made room for the Captain on the sofa. "I hope Dr. Downes is not breaking," she said, "but he has not looked well lately."

"Oh, he is all right: it was only this fit of gout coming on. The last time I saw him he broke into a lamentation over the loss of his gold snuff-box: it's not often he speaks of it. That was a curious thing, by the way."

"Very," assented Ella. "I was away at the time, but I heard about it on my return. It put me in mind of the loss of my aunt's jewels."

"Why, that's what it put me in mind of; very forcibly, too," returned Captain Lennox. "I said so to Philip Cleeve."

Both of them turned their eyes on Philip as the Captain spoke. To Ella it seemed that Philip was strangely restless and excited to-night. His eyes sparkled and his face looked flushed. "Foolish boy! he has been drinking too much wine," was her thought; and Mr. Bootle was evidently of the same opinion.

But they were mistaken. Philip had been in the same restless and excited mood yesterday, and would be again to-morrow. Captain Lennox was probably the only person present who could have guessed at the real cause of it.

"I wonder," resumed Ella, "whether the Doctor will ever find his snuff-box again?"

"Ah, that's doubtful," said the Captain, gravely shaking his head. "Not if it was taken by an ordinary thief."

"What do you mean, Captain Lennox?"

"If a common thief stole the box, it would probably be melted down as soon afterwards as might be. If--if anybody else took it, he would no doubt sell it for what he could get for it; and the box, in that case, may some day or other turn up again."

"But why should one not an ordinary thief take it?"

A smile crossed the Captain's lips at the question, as he looked down at Miss Winter.

"To make money of it, of course," he said, dropping his voice. "A gentleman hard-up has done as much before, and may do as much again."

Ella looked at the speaker: his tone was peculiar, and she thought he meant it to be. But he moved away, and said no more.

The party broke up early, remembering Lady Cleeve's delicate health. Miss Winter offered a seat in her carriage to the Vicar, for whom a fly was waiting. He preferred the carriage, and dismissed the fly. After his return home, he nodded a little while in his study over his cosey bit of fire; but he felt dead sleepy, and soon went up to bed.

The Reverend Francis Kettle had a methodical habit of emptying his pockets before he began to undress, and laying out their contents on a low chest of drawers that stood by his bedside. This he proceeded to do as usual. His card-case, his pencil-case, his gold toothpick, and his bunch of keys were all put down in due order, but when he came to feel for the most important item of all, his purse, or small money-case, made of Russian leather, it was nowhere to be found. In something of a quandary the Vicar took his candle and went downstairs. Could he have left it on his study-table in a fit of absent-mindedness, or had it fallen out of his pocket while he dropped into that half-doze in his easy-chair?

Very little time sufficed to convince him that the case was nowhere in the study, and he went back upstairs more nonplussed than ever. The loss of its contents would not ruin him: it had contained a few sovereigns and some silver: all the same, he was much put about by its unaccountable disappearance. He had given the flyman a shilling for himself on getting out at Lady Cleeve's, and that was the last time he had had occasion to open the case. However, it was certainly gone now; and he had as certainly not lost it through any carelessness.

"What in the world is coming to us all?" cried he, testily. "This is a second edition of Downes's snuff-box. Have we in truth got a black sheep among us? If so, who is he?"

And it is to be hoped that these repeated losses will not weary the reader. Events can but be related as they occurred.

The Vicar's roomy, easy-fitting clothes and capacious pockets would present few difficulties to any clever member of the light-fingered craft. But, then, he had not been where any light-fingered gentry could possibly be supposed to be. He had been in the society of his friends and neighbours: there had not been a single individual at Homedale that evening whom he did not know. It was a most unaccountable affair, and the Vicar's sleep that night was by no means so sound as usual.

We must go for a short space of time to Heron Dyke, preceding Miss Winter and her companion's return to it that evening. The reader does not forget that one of the maids had been attacked with sore throat. Dr. Spreckley soon cured her; but since then a few other cases had appeared in the neighbourhood of the Hall from time to time. Not sufficient to const............