“It’s here, dad.  Shall I open it?”

“Yes,” he replied.  “That dear old fellow never forgets his old friend.  Never a seal finds its way into the collection at Cambridge but he first sends it to me for examination before it is catalogued.  He knows what pleasure it is to me to decipher them and make out their history—­almost, alas! the only pleasure left to me, except you, my darling.”

“Professor Moyes adopts your opinion always, dad.  He knows, as every other antiquary knows, that you are the greatest living authority on the subject which you have made a lifetime study—­that of the bronze seals of the Middle Ages.”

“Ah!” sighed the old man, “if I could only write my great book!  It is the pleasure debarred me.  Years ago I started to collect material; but my affliction came, and now I can only feel the matrices and picture them in my mind.  I see through your eyes, dear Gabrielle.  To me, the world I loved so much is only a blank darkness, with your dear voice sounding out of it—­the only voice, my child, that is music to my ears.”

The girl said nothing.  She only glanced at the sad, expressionless face, and, cutting the string of the small packet, displayed three bronze seals—­two oval, about two inches long, and the third round, about one inch in diameter, and each with a small kind of handle on the reverse.  With them were sulphur-casts or impressions taken from them, ready to be placed in the museum at Cambridge.

The old man’s nervous fingers travelled over the surfaces quickly, an expression of complete satisfaction in his face.

“Have you the magnifying-glass, dear?  Tell me what you make of the inscriptions,” he said, at the same time carefully feeling the curious mediaeval lettering of one of the casts.

At the same instant she started, rose quickly from her chair, and held her breath.

A man, tall, dark-faced, and wearing a thin black overcoat, had entered noiselessly from the lawn by the open window, and stood there, with his finger upon his lips, indicating silence.  Then he pointed outside, with a commanding gesture that she should follow.

Her eyes met his in a glance of fierce resentment, and instinctively she placed her hand upon her breast, as though to stay the beating of her heart.

Again he pointed in silent authority, and she as though held in some mysterious thraldom, made excuse to the blind man, and, rising, followed in his noiseless footsteps.

CHAPTER III

SEALS OF DESTINY

Ten minutes later she returned, panting, her face pale and haggard, her mouth hard-set.  For a moment she stood in silence upon the threshold of the open doors leading to the grounds, her hand pressed to her breast in a strenuous endeavour to calm herself.  She feared that her father might detect her agitation, for he was so quick in discovering in her the slightest unusual emotion.  She glanced behind her with an expression full of fear, as though dreading the reappearance of that man who had compelled her to follow him out into the night.  Then she looked at her father, who, still seated motionless with his back to her, was busy with his fingers upon something on the blotting-pad before him.