She had before acquainted him with the promise Juliet had exacted from her, that she would call her husband the moment she seemed in danger—­a possibility which Juliet regarded as a certainty; and had begged him to think how they could contrive to have Faber within call.  He had now a plan to propose with this object in view, but began, apparently, at a distance from it.

“You know, Miss Drake,” he said, “that I am well acquainted with every yard of this ground.  Had your honored father asked me whether the Old House was desirable for a residence, I should have expressed considerable doubt.  But there is one thing which would greatly improve it—­would indeed, I hope, entirely remove my objection to it.  Many years ago I noted the state of the stone steps leading up to the door:  they were much and diversely out of the level; and the cause was evident with the first great rain:  the lake filled the whole garden—­to the top of the second step.  Now this, if it take place only once a year, must of course cause damp in the house.  But I think there is more than that will account for.  I have been in the cellars repeatedly, both before and since your father bought it; and always found them too damp.  The cause of it, I think, is, that the foundations are as low as the ordinary level of the water in the pond, and the ground at that depth is of large gravel:  it seems to me that the water gets through to the house.  I should propose, therefore, that from the bank of the Lythe a tunnel be commenced, rising at a gentle incline until it pierces the basin of the lake.  The ground is your own to the river, I believe?”

“It is,” answered Dorothy.  “But I should be sorry to empty the lake altogether.”

“My scheme,” returned Polwarth, “includes a strong sluice, by which you could keep the water at what height you pleased, and at any moment send it into the river.  The only danger would be of cutting through the springs; and I fancy they are less likely to be on the side next the river where the ground is softer, else they would probably have found their way directly into it, instead of first hollowing out the pond.”

“Would it be a difficult thing to do?” asked Dorothy.

“I think not,” answered Polwarth.  “But with your permission I will get a friend of mine, an engineer, to look into it.”

“I leave it in your hands,” said Dorothy.—­“Do you think we will find any thing at the bottom?”

“Who can tell?  But we do not know how near the bottom the tunnel may bring us; there may be fathoms of mud below the level of the river-bed.—­One thing, thank God, we shall not find there!”

The same week all was arranged with the engineer.  By a certain day his men were to be at work on the tunnel.

For some time now, things had been going on much the same with all in whom my narrative is interested.  There come lulls in every process, whether of growth or of tempest, whether of creation or destruction, and those lulls, coming as they do in the midst of force, are precious in their influence—­because they are only lulls, and the forces are still at work.  All the time the volcano is quiet, something is going on below.  From the first moment of exhaustion, the next outbreak is preparing.  To be faint is to begin to gather, as well as to cease to expend.