Yet I lingered under the archway, determined to observe to the last Mr. Bainrothe’s proceedings.  When he had locked the chest and replaced the mirror, which swung out from its place, as I have said, like a door on invisible hinges and fastened with a spring, he passed hastily out of the dining-room into the pantry beyond, opening for convenience on a covered paved court, which divided the kitchen from the house and which led directly into the yard beyond.  After that, all was silent.

Yet, the next day, Franklin assured me that he had carried the key of the pantry away with him, when he went home at night (he was a married man, and slept at his own house usually), and that he found it locked in the morning just as he had left it.

This was in answer to a question which I tried to make as careless as possible, with regard to some burglaries that had lately been committed in a neighboring street, adding, by way of caution:  “Don’t forget to lock us up carefully at night, Franklin; remember we are all women in the house, except Morton, and he is old and sleeps like a top, no doubt having a good conscience for his pillow.”

“If you would have an inside bolt put upon the pantry-door, it would be best, Miss Miriam,” he remarked; “that is, if your mind is really troubled about robbers.  Then you could draw it yourself in my absence at night.”

“And who would let you in, in the morning, Franklin, if I did this?  Our household would sleep until noon, were it not for your early summons, I verily believe.”

“I will throw a pebble at the cook’s window, miss, if she is not on foot by that time.  But she usually is; cooks has to stir earlier than the rest, you know, by reason of the light rolls and muffins.”

“Oh, yes! true, I had forgotten this.  Go at once, then, Franklin, for a smith, and let him put a massive bolt on the pantry-door, and I will be jailer of Monfort Hall in future, in your absence, for I am quite sure some one was trying that lock last night.  I came to the dining-room for water just before daylight, and heard it distinctly.”

“One of your lady-like notions,” said Franklin, shaking his head, with an incredulous smile; “young ladies is always nervous like, and fearful about robbers, all but Miss Evelyn Erle—­I never seen the like of her, for true grit!  All was safe when I came, Miss Miriam, any way, and, if robbers had been about, it stands to reason the silver chest, setting out in the pantry, would have stood a poor chance.”

Again he smiled provokingly.  “There are all sorts of robbers in this world,” I said, a little sternly; “some come for one purpose, some for another.  Attend to the bolt, Franklin, at once; I am very sure of what I have said.”  And so the parley ended.

I am certain that Mr. Bainrothe came no more by night to his treasure-cave, but there was a mocking smile on his lip—­when Evelyn told him, before me, some time later, that I had caused a bolt to be placed on the pantry-door, for fear of burglars—­that was significant to my mind.