On that same night the weather changed with unexampled rapidity from cold to warm. A thick mist descended¹ on Crumel, and the snow began to melt, as though under the influence of a summer sun. The long hours of darkness were filled with the dripping of water, the melting of snow, and the whole country was turned into a vast expanse of slush. The expectations of a White Christmas, entertained by old-fashioned people, vanished, and next day it seemed, from the warm humidity of the foggy air, as though the season of Yule had given place to early autumn.  
Clarice looked out of her bedroom-window on to damp green lawns, from which patches of snow were quickly disappearing, and experienced a sense of discomfort², which she set down to the queer weather. Perhaps the earthquakes in the earlier part of the year had disarranged the English climate and altered the seasons, but assuredly the atmosphere was decidedly unhealthy. Yet the vague fears of the girl may have been less due to the sudden change of temperature than to the feeling of apprehension⁴ she entertained, since her conversation with Mr. Clarke, that money matters were not so satisfactory as she had thought them to be.
 
Hitherto Clarice had implicitly⁵ trusted Mr. Barras in her innocence⁶ of worldly ways. He had always been frank with her, so far as she could see, and having been delegated by Horran to tell her of all things connected with the estate, Clarice had believed that she knew everything. Now, if the vicar were to be believed, it appeared that Horran had lent him money, and was pressing for the payment of the interest. Also, Dr. Jerce seemed to know of the private business of the Baird orphans⁷, and to be influencing Horran against the wretched Mr. Clarke. Certainly, the vicar was not a very estimable character, and his infatuation for his spendthrift son merited contempt rather than approbation⁸. Nevertheless, Horran had known Clarke all his life and had been to college with him and with Jerce. He therefore, assuredly, should not be hard on the parson, whose sole fault was affection for an unworthy son. Also, if Jerce was influencing Horran, as Clarke suggested, he might advise leniency⁹ instead of bearing hard on the man, especially at Christmas time. Barras also appeared to be anxious to force the vicar into discharging the interest at a time when he could ill afford to pay three pounds, much less three hundred; and, more than this, Barras wilfully¹⁰ concealed¹¹ from Clarice the facts of the case. If the lawyer withheld¹² this item, he certainly withheld others, and Clarice, staring out of her window at the thaw¹³, began to find herself doubting the honesty of Mr. Barras.
 
Added to these troubles were the facts of Horran's mysterious illness, and the mystery of the purple fern. More than ever, Clarice was determined¹⁴ not to speak to Jerce about the missive, which had sent Horran into his second deep sleep. Putting aside the fact that Jerce was in league with Barras--as it would appear--to bankrupt the vicar, the doctor, being in love with her, assuredly was not a person to whom she could talk freely. Then again, Ferdy's manner alarmed the girl. After his first outburst of joy on becoming engaged to Prudence¹⁵, he had relapsed into moody¹⁶ silence, and seemed to be much worried over something, which he refused to explain to his sister.
 
In vain, on the previous night, had Clarice implored¹⁷ him to be entirely¹⁸ frank. Ferdy, declaring that there was nothing wrong, had maintained his moody manner, and had drunk much more wine than was good for a man with a weak brain. On the whole, Clarice, after reflection, concluded that her uneasiness was due less to the unexampled weather than to the domestic mysteries, by which she seemed to be surrounded.
 
On leaving her room, she found that Ferdy had already breakfasted, and had gone out. Presuming that he was haunting Prudence with the impatience¹⁹ of a young lover, Clarice thought no more about his absence, but breakfasted alone. Then she repaired to Mr. Horran's room to speak to him of the many matters which were on her mind. It was just as well, she thought, to go to the fountain head at once, and to learn if Horran really desired to sell up the vicar.
 
"Is Uncle Henry awake?" she asked, when Chalks presented himself. "No, Miss," was the prompt reply, "he is sound asleep, as usual."
 
"Dear me. And how long will he sleep?"
 
"Dr. Wentworth can't say, Miss. We tried to wake him, and can't, so Dr. Wentworth said it would be better to let him sleep until he had a consultation²⁰ with Dr. Jerce."
 
Clarice cast a look at the French window, and saw that it was open wide, in spite of the fog. "I see that Dr. Wentworth has been here, Chalks," she said, remembering the whimsical explanation of the man about the disagreement between the two physicians. "Yes, Miss," said Chalks, casting a look at the window, "but when Dr. Jerce comes this afternoon, he will have that closed."
 
"Oh is Dr. Jerce coming this afternoon?"
 
"Yes, Miss. Dr. Wentworth doesn't like this constant sleeping of the master, and has sent for Dr. Jerce to consult."
 
"It is just as well," said Clarice, crossing to the bed and looking at the pale, calm face of the still sleeping man. "I want to talk to Dr. Jerce about some business."
 
This was hardly the term. She wished to ask Jerce why the grey man had searched his pockets, and why he was influencing Barras and Horran to be hard on the vicar. The matter of the purple fern, she intended to relate to no one but Anthony. A memory of his name made her glance at her watch, and she noted²¹ that he would soon make his appearance. Horran seemed to be sleeping as placidly²² as an infant, so she felt that there was no cause for alarm. Bending to kiss the placid²³ face, she turned slowly towards the door.
 
"By the way, Chalks, have you seen Mr. Ferdinand this morning?" she asked, thinking that her brother might have paid a visit to the invalid²⁴.
 
"Yes, Miss," said the valet, promptly²⁵. "I saw him out of this," he waved his hand towards the open French window, "going to the Savoy Hotel."
 
"Oh," ejaculated Clarice, and hastily left the room. It seemed strange to her that Ferdy should seek out the mother of Sarah Dumps, just when he became engaged. Surely he did not love the dancer, when he had only lately proposed to Prudence. Remembering Dr. Jerce's remarks, and recalling the conversation of Mrs. Rebson, the girl felt uneasy on account of her brother. Ferdy seemed to have two strings²⁶ to his bow. Sarah Dumps was not at home, certainly, yet,--here Clarice stopped and thought. A sudden idea struck her. She returned quickly to the sick-room. "Chalks, you go sometimes to the Savoy Hotel," she remarked, "were you there last night?"
 
"For half an hour, Miss," replied the valet, apologetically, "Mrs. Rebson watched master while I was away. I hope I didn't do wrong, but master seemed to be sleeping so quietly that I thought I might get a breath of fresh air."
 
"No! no! that's all right, Chalks. But do you know if Mrs. Dumps' daughter has returned for Christmas."
 
"Yes, Miss. She came back last night, and a very pretty girl she is, Miss, quite a--"
 
"Yes, yes! I have seen her," interrupted Clarice, hurriedly, and went away feeling more upset than ever. This, then, was the reason of Ferdy's visit to the Savoy Hotel. Sarah Dumps was in the field, and Ferdy was in her nets. Yet weak as the boy was, it seemed incredible that he should propose to one woman and immediately seek the company of another. Here, then, was another trouble for Clarice, and she did not know very well what to do. It was impossible to speak to Ferdy, as she had no proof that he loved Sarah Dumps, save from what Mrs. Rebson had said. A simple denial on the part of Ferdy would take the wind out of her sails, so to speak, and she would be helpless to do anything. On the other hand, Clarice felt certain that in some way Ferdy was playing a double game. She knew his weak character too well to give him the benefit of the doubt. For all she knew he might be engaged to both Sarah Dumps and Prudence at the same time. "Oh, dear me," cried her heart, "I wish Anthony would marry me and take me away from all these troubles;" but even as she thought, the wish seemed cowardly. She would have to remain and fight Ferdy's battles and those of the vicar. Also, if the purple fern meant any harm to Mr. Horran, she would be forced to help him also. The sole thing she could do was to seek Anthony's advice and aid.
 
Towards noon that young man arrived, having driven over from Gattlinsands in his dog-cart. Usually he came over on a motor bicycle, but as he explained to Clarice between kisses, the sudden thaw had made the roads death-traps in the way of slipping. "I'm jolly well splashed," said Ackworth, laughing, "but if Leander swam the Hellespont to see Hero, why shouldn't I wade²⁷ through acres of slush to see you?"
 
"Of course," smiled Clarice, who felt much lighter-hearted, now that this strong young lover was present, "only you were driving instead of wading²⁸, my dear Anthony."
 
"Well, I dare say Leander would have taken a penny steamer had there been one," said Anthony, throwing back his handsome head, "so that makes my parallel the more perfect."
 
Clarice laughed again, and drew him silently to a sofa, whereon they sat hand in hand, after the delightfully²⁹ foolish manner of lovers. Ackworth was certainly a Swain of whom any girl might have been proud. He was not the desperately³⁰ good-looking god of the Family Herald³¹, but was comely³² enough in his youth and strength to pass in a crowd. His closely clipped hair was fair, as was his moustache. He had a bronzed face and a pair of merry blue eyes, and was as well set up as military training and constant out-of-door exercise could make him. Finally, he had a well-groomed, clean look, and anyone could see that he was a thoroughly³³ wholesome³⁴, honourable³⁵ gentleman. Clarice, of course, deemed him to be perfection, which he was not; but he had more virtues³⁶ than faults, and assuredly was masterful enough to satisfy the most exacting³⁷ woman. As a Greek god, Anthony Ackworth was a failure; as a man to trust and love he came off very well. That he was not superlatively clever, did not lower Clarice's appreciation³⁹ of his character.
 
"Well?" asked Anthony, unoriginally, "how are things?"
 
"All wrong," replied Clarice, quickly. "I have been most anxious to see you, dear. I want help."
 
"I should think you were clever enough to do without any help I could give you," said Ackworth, admiringly, for he looked upon Miss Baird as a Queen Elizabeth-cum-Catherine-George Eliot kind of woman. "Is Mr. Horran any better?"
 
"No--that is, he's asleep."
 
"He was asleep last time I was here."
 
"Yes. He then slept for ten hours and woke up to drop asleep again for a longer period."
 
"What a dormouse sort of existence. Is it that which worries you?"
 
"No. Uncle Henry is no better and no worse than he ever was. I have several things to worry me. Ferdy is engaged to Prudence Clarke."
 
"Lucky man. She's a pretty girl," said Anthony; "that shouldn't worry you, dearest. You wished to have her for a sister-in-law."
 
"Yes, but there's Sarah Dumps."
 
"What a name. Who is Sarah Dumps?"
 
"Butterfly."
 
"Butterfly what?"
 
"You know. She dances and sings under the name of--"
 
"Oh!" Anthony was suddenly enlightened. "I remember. I saw a dancer called Butterfly at the Mascot⁴⁰ Music-hall. She's pretty, but not the kind of woman I admire."
 
"I am afraid Ferdy does," sighed Clarice.
 
"What. You don't mean to say--"
 
"Yes, I do. Listen to what Mrs. Rebson says." And Clarice related the conversation with the old housekeeper⁴¹. "And you see," ended Miss Baird, anxiously, "if Sarah Dumps has come back, and Ferdy has gone to see her so immediately, I am afraid he is entangled⁴² with her."
 
Ackworth shook his head. "No, my dear," he said, very decidedly, "Ferdy is not clever, but, at least, he is a gentleman. No man would propose to one woman, and then immediately visit another old flame. I don't believe there is anything in the matter. Besides, Butterfly--to give her the name she is best known by--is ambitious of a richer husband than your brother, to say nothing of her wish for a title."
 
"But Mrs. Dumps--"
 
"Oh, the mother living here naturally thinks Ferdy a good match."
 
"Well, he is. He will have two thousand a year."
 
"Butterfly will want ten thousand. From all I have heard she has a wonderful capacity for spending."
 
"Is she--is she--," Clarice hesitated, "quite respectable?"
 
"Oh, quite," assented⁴³ Ackworth, decisively, "she's too clever a young woman to play fast and loose with her reputation. She wants to marry well, you see, and therefore keeps straight. But I don't think you need be afraid of Ferdy, darling. He's only one of the many moths⁴⁴ that have fluttered round that candle. Now that he's engaged he'll forget her. And, after all, it's mere⁴⁵ talk. He may not be in love with Butterfly at all."
 
"Why should he visit her, so--"
 
"He may have gone to see the mother, or to have a drink," said Anthony, vaguely⁴⁶. "Ferdy's an ass³, but he's all right."
 
"But Dr. Jerce says he drinks and gambles, and--"
 
"I'll have to talk to Ferdy, and see if I can lead him in the right way," said Ackworth, with some impatience. "Don't trouble yourself over your brother, dearest. Every young man of that age is more or less of an ass. But it's only like a young colt kicking his heels in a flowery meadow."
 
"Then I need not worry, Anthony?"
 
"No, I'll speak to Ferdy and take this especial worry off your shoulders, my dear. Anything else?"
 
"This." Clarice held out the letter, without explanation, as she wanted to know if the elusive⁴⁷ memory would come more clearly to Anthony. He opened the envelope in silence, then sprang up with a shout when he saw the contents.
 
"The Purple Fern, by Jupiter!" said Ackworth, staring. "What does it mean?" asked Clarice, vaguely terrified.
 
Ackworth looked anxious. "Nothing very pleasant," he muttered; "I thought it had been stamped out."
 
"What had been stamped out?"
 
"This purple fern business. Don't you remember that the papers were full of it a year ago, Clarry?"
 
Clarice put her hand to her head. The memory came back with a rush, and she now knew why the pictorial⁴⁸ representation of the fern had been vaguely familiar to her. "Oh," she exclaimed, "does it mean death to Uncle Henry?"
 
"What?" Anthony looked relieved. "Then you did not get it?"
 
"No. Uncle Henry told me that he found it outside his bedroom window. I expect he remembered about the murders, and received the shock he talked about. Why do you look so relieved?"
 
"I thought that the warning might have been directed to you," muttered Ackworth, turning over the envelope, "apparently⁴⁹ it is not, and perhaps not even to Mr. Horran, since there is no address."
 
"Tell me, Anthony, exactly what it means," said Clarice, anxiously. "I remember reading a lot about those murders, but I almost forget."
 
"I wonder at that, considering how we talked them over," said Ackworth, sitting down again, and slipping his arm round her as though to protect her from harm. "Don't you remember, darling, that one person after another was found murdered in houses and in streets, with a purple fern stamped on the forehead. And in every case, a warning of a stamped fern was sent beforehand. Then the police caught one man red-handed. He was tried and hanged, but he would not give away his associates. But the police gathered that he was one of a gang who killed people to get money--since all the victims were wealthy--and in every instance the sign of the association, a purple fern, was stamped on the forehead of the victim. But with the hanging of the man that was caught, the murders ceased. This is the first time I have heard of a new warning being given. I should recommend Mr. Horran to take care of himself."
 
"Oh, Anthony, how terrible. Do you really think that he is in danger of his life?"
 
"Judging by the fact that seven people, men and women, were killed, after such a warning had been sent, I do think it is dangerous. I shall see the local police about this at once. The house must be watched. I wonder why Horran is to be killed. Is he very rich?"
 
Recollecting⁵⁰ what Clarke had said, Clarice could reply easily: "On the contrary, he has nothing but what he earns by acting³⁸ as our guardian⁵¹. I wish he could explain exactly how he picked up the letter; but he is still asleep."
 
At this minute the wheels of a carriage were heard. Clarice, wondering if the new arrival was Jerce, opened the French window and stepped out on to the terrace, now sloppy⁵² with mixed snow and water and mud. She strolled to the end, followed by Anthony, and saw that Dr. Jerce had indeed arrived. He was stepping out of a hired fly, and had just handed the man his fare, when he caught sight of Clarice. At once he came towards her with outstretched hand. She took it unwillingly⁵³ enough. "I received a wire from Wentworth," he said, anxiously. "I hope my old friend is not very ill again."
 
"No. He's in a sound sleep, and Dr. Wentworth is puzzled over the length of his slumber⁵⁴. Come in this way." And she went along the terrace.
 
"Thank you. Ah, Mr. Ackworth, how are you? Quite a change in the weather, isn't it? And I--why, what's the matter?"
 
The ejaculation was caused by a cry from Clarice. She had picked up a small object, which the thaw had revealed. It was a small gold box, and on its face was set a curved fern in amethysts⁵⁵.
 
"The Purple Fern again!" exclaimed Ackworth, amazed.