"There's such a row at our place!" suddenly announced Cyril Dare, at the Pomeranian dinner-table, one Monday evening.  
"What about?" asked Mr. Dare.
 
"Some money's missing. At least, a cheque; which amounts to the same thing."
 
"Not quite the same," Mr. Dare. "Unless it has been cashed."
 
"I mean the same as regards noise," continued Cyril. "There's as much fuss being made over it as if it had been fourteen pounds' weight of solid gold. It was a cheque of Dunns'; and the master put it into his desk, or says he did so. When he came to look for it, it was gone."
 
"Who took it?" inquired Mr. Dare.
 
"Who's to know? That's what we want to find out."
 
"What was the amount?"
 
"Fourteen pounds, I say. A sum. Ashley makes a boast, and says it's not the amount that bothers him, but the feeling that we must have some one false near us."
 
"Don't speak so slightingly of money," Mr. Dare. "Fourteen pounds are not so easily picked up that it should be pleasant to lose them."
 
"I'm sure I don't want to speak slightingly of money," returned Cyril, . "You keep me too short, sir, for me not to know the full value of it. But fourteen pounds cannot be much of a loss to Mr. Ashley."
 
"If I keep you short, you have forced me to it by your extravagances—you and the rest of you," responded Mr. Dare, in short, tones.
 
An unpleasant pause ensued. When the father of a family intimates that his income is diminishing, it is not a welcome announcement. The young Dares had been obliged to hear it often lately. Adelaide broke the silence.
 
"How was the cheque taken?"
 
"It was a cheque brought by Dunns' people on Saturday night, in exchange for money, and the master placed it in his open desk in the counting-house," explained Cyril. "He went into Lynn's room to watch the packing, and was away an hour. When he returned, the cheque was gone."
 
"Who was in the counting-house?"
 
"Not a soul except Halliburton. He was there all the time."
 
"And no one else went in?" cried Mr. Dare.
 
"No one," replied Cyril, sending up his plate for more meat.
 
"Why, then, it would look as if Halliburton took it?" exclaimed Mr. Dare.
 
Cyril raised his . "No one would venture to suggest as much in the hearing of the manufactory. It appears to be impressed with the opinion that Halliburton, like kings, can do no wrong."
 
"Mr. Ashley is so?"
 
"Mr. Ashley, and ."
 
"But, Cyril, if the facts are as you state, Halliburton must have been the one to take it," objected Mr. Dare. "Possibly the cheque may have been only mislaid?"
 
"The counting-house underwent a thorough search this morning, and every corner of the master's desk was turned out, but nothing came of it. Halliburton appears to be in a world of surprise as to where it can have gone; but he does not seem to glance at the fact that suspicion may attach to him."
 
"Of course Mr. Ashley intends to investigate it officially?" said Mr. Dare.
 
"He does not say," replied Cyril. "He had the two packers before him this morning separately, inquiring if they saw any one pass through the room to the counting-house on Saturday night. He also questioned me. We had none of us seen anything of the sort."
 
"Where were you at the time, Cyril?" eagerly questioned Mr. Dare.
 
Knowing what we know, it may seem a question. It was not, however, so spoken. Mr. Dare would probably have suspected the whole manufactory before casting suspicion upon his son. The thought that really crossed his mind was, that if his son had happened to be in the way and had seen the thief, whoever he might be, steal into the counting-house, so that through him he might be discovered, it would have been a feather in Cyril's cap in the sight of Mr. Ashley. And to find favour with Mr. Ashley Mr. Dare considered ought to be the ruling aim of Cyril's life.
 
"I was away from it all, as it happened," said Cyril, in reply to the question. "Old Lynn nailed me on Saturday to help to pay the men. While the cheque was disappearing, I was at the employment of counting ."
 
"Did one of the packers get in?"
 
"Impossible. They were under Mr. Ashley's eye the whole time."
 
"Look here, Cyril," interrupted Mrs. Dare, the first word she had spoken: "is it sure that that yea-and-nay Simon of a Quaker has not helped himself to it?"
 
Cyril burst into a laugh. "He is not a Simon in the manufactory, I can tell you, ma'am. He is too much of a ."
 
"Will Mr. Ashley be at the manufactory this evening, Cyril?" questioned Mr. Dare.
 
"You may as well ask me whether the moon will shine," was the response of Cyril. "Mr. Ashley comes sometimes in an evening; but we never know whether he will or not, beforehand."
 
"Because he may be glad of legal assistance," remarked Mr. Dare, who rarely failed to turn an eye to business.
 
You may remember the party that sat round Mr. Dare's dinner-table on that day, some years ago, when Herbert was pleased to fancy that he fared badly, not appreciating the of lamb. Two of that party were now absent from it—Julia Dare and Miss Benyon. Julia had married, and had left England with her husband; and Miss Benyon had been discarded for a more fashionable governess.
 
This fashionable governess now sat at the table. She was called Mademoiselle Varsini. You must not mistake her for a French woman; she was an Italian. She had been a great deal in France, and the language as a native—indeed, it was more easy to her now than her childhood's tongue; and French was the language she was required to in with her pupils, Rosa and Minny Dare. English also she spoke fluently, but with a foreign accent.
 
She was looking. Her was of pale olive, and her eyes were light blue. It is not often that light blue eyes are seen in conjunction with so dark a skin. Strange eyes they were—eyes that as if they were made of glass; they had at times a hard, appearance. Her black hair was from her face and twisted into innumerable rolls at the back of her head. It was smooth and beautiful, as if a silken rope had been coiled there. Her lips were thin and compressed in a degree, which may have been supposed to indicate firmness of character. Tall, and full across the for her years, her figure would have been called a fine one. She wore a closely-fitting dress of some soft, dark material, with small and collar.
 
What were her years? She said twenty-five: but she might be taken for either older or younger. It is difficult to guess with certainty the age of an Italian woman. As a rule they look much older than English women; and, when they do begin to show age, they show it rapidly. Mr. Dare had never approved of the engagement of this foreign governess. Mrs. Dare had picked her up from an advertisement, and had persisted in engaging her, in spite of the written references............