Henceforth her lot was one of furtive movement and concealment.
As she lay there, staring open-eyed into the darkness, her thoughts slipped back to the night of her visit to Flint House in a vain effort to recollect some overlooked incident which might throw light on her father's mysterious death.

There was one thing over which she had frequently puzzled without arriving at any interpretation of it.

She thought of it now.

She saw herself stealing from her father's room with the sound of his last awful words ringing through her being.

Beneath, near the foot of the staircase, she could see Thalassa waiting, the glow of the tiny hall light falling on his stern listening face.