"Miss Hastings," she said, "I suppose a solemn promise, solemnly given, can never be broken?"
"It never should be broken," replied the governess. "Instances have been known where people have preferred death to breaking such a promise."
"Yes, such deaths have been known. I should imagine," commented Pauline, with a gleam of light on her face, "that no Darrell ever broke his or her word when it had been solemnly given."
"I should imagine not," said Miss Hastings.
But she had no clew to her pupil"s musings or to the reason of her question.
So the noon-day shadows crept on. Purple-winged b.u.t.terflies coquetted with the flowers, resting on the golden b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the white lilies, and on the crimson leaves of the rose; busy bees murmured over the rich clove carnations; the birds sang sweet, jubilant songs, and a gentle breeze stirred faintly the leaves on the trees. For once Pauline Darrell seemed blind to the warm, sweet summer beauty; it lay unheeded before her.
Miss Hastings saw Sir Oswald coming toward them; a murmur of surprise came from her lips.
"Pauline," she said, "look at Sir Oswald--how ill he seems. I am afraid something is wrong."
He drew near to them, evidently deeply agitated.
"I am glad to find you here, Miss Hastings," he said; "I am in trouble.
Nay, Pauline, do not go; my troubles should be yours."
For the girl had risen with an air of proud weariness, intending to leave them together. At his words--the kindest he had spoken to her for some time--she took her seat again; but the haughty, listless manner did not change.
"I am nearly sixty years of age," said Sir Oswald, "and this is the first time such a trouble has come to me. Miss Hastings, do you remember that conversation of ours last night, over that roll of notes in the ebony box?"
"I remember it perfectly, Sir Oswald."
"I went this morning to take them from the box, to take their numbers and send them to the bank, and I could not find them--they were gone."
"Gone!" repeated Miss Hastings. "It is impossible! You must be mistaken; you must have overlooked them. What did they amount to?"
"Exactly one thousand pounds," he replied. "I cannot understand it. You saw me replace the notes in the box?"
"I did; I watched you. You placed them in one corner. I could put my finger on the place," said Miss Hastings.
"I locked the box and carried it with my own hands to my study. I placed it in the drawer of my writing-table, and locked that. I never parted with my keys to any one; as is my invariable rule, I placed them under my pillow. I slept soundly all night, and when I woke I found them there. As I tell you I have been to the box, and the notes are gone. I cannot understand it, for I do not see any indication of a theft, and yet I have been robbed."
Miss Hastings looked very thoughtful.
"You have certainly been robbed," she said. "Are you sure the keys have never left your possession?"
"Never for one single moment," he replied.
"Has any one in the house duplicate keys?" she asked.
"No. I bought the box years ago in Venice; it has a peculiar lock--there is not one in England like it."
"It is very strange," said Miss Hastings. "A thousand pounds is no trifle to lose."
Pauline Darrell, her face turned to the flowers, uttered no word.
"You might show some little interest, Pauline," said her uncle, sharply; "you might have the grace to affect it, even if you do not feel it."
"I am very sorry indeed," she returned, coldly. "I am grieved that you have had such a loss."
Sir Oswald looked pacified.
"It is not so much the actual loss of the money that has grieved me," he said; "I shall not feel it. But I am distressed to think that there should be a thief among the people I have loved and trusted."
"What a solemn council!" interrupted the cheery voice of Aubrey Langton.
"What gloomy conspirators!"
Sir Oswald looked up with an air of great relief.
"I am so glad you are come, Aubrey; you can advise me what to do."
And the baronet told the story of his loss.
Captain Langton was shocked, amazed; he asked a hundred questions, and then suggested that they should drive over to Audleigh Royal and place the affair in the hands of the chief inspector of police.
"You said you had not taken the numbers of the notes; I fear it will be difficult to trace them," he said, regretfully. "What a strange, mysterious robbery. Is there any one you suspect, Sir Oswald?"
No; in all the wide world there was not one that the loyal old man suspected of robbing him.
"My servants have always been to me like faithful old friends," he said, sadly; "there is not one among them who would hold out his hand to steal from me."
Captain Langton suggested that, before going to Audleigh Royal, they should search the library.
"You may have made some mistake, sir," he said. "You were tired last night, and it is just possible that you may have put the money somewhere else, and do not remember it."
"We will go at once," decided Sir Oswald.
Miss Hastings wished them success; but the proud face directed toward the flowers was never turned to them. The pale lips were never unclosed to utter one word.
After the gentlemen had left them, when Miss Hastings began to speak eagerly of the loss, Pauline raised her hand with a proud gesture.
"I have heard enough," she said. "I do not wish to hear one word more."
The robbery created a great sensation; inspectors came from Audleigh Royal, and a detective from Scotland Yard, but no one could throw the least light upon the subject. The notes could not be traced; they had been paid in from different sources, and no one had kept a list of the numbers.
Even the detective seemed puzzled. Sir Oswald had locked up the notes in the box at night, he had kept the keys in his own possession, and he had found in the morning that the box was still locked and the notes were gone. It was a nine days" wonder. Captain Langton gave all the help he could, but as all search seemed useless and hopeless, it was abandoned after a time, and at the end of the week Captain Langton was summoned to London, and all hope of solving the mystery was relinquished.
CHAPTER XXII.
FULFILLING THE CONTRACT.