“And ye may well ask, Miss Dinah dear!” Tragedy made itself heard in Biddy’s rejoinder.  “Sure it’s them letters of Miss Isabel’s that’s disappeared entirely, and left no trace.  And what’ll I do at all when she comes to ask for them?  It’s not meself that’ll dare to tell her as they’ve gone, and she setting such store by them.  She’ll go clean out of her mind, Miss Dinah, for sure, they’ve been her only comfort, poor lamb, these seven years.”

“But, Biddy!” Impulsively Dinah broke in upon her, her eyes round with surprise and consternation.  “They can’t be—­gone!  They must be somewhere!  Have you hunted for them?  She left them on the window-sill, didn’t she?  They must have got put away.”

“That they have not!” declared Biddy solemnly.  “It’s my belief that the old gentleman himself must have spirited them away.  The window was left open, ye know, Miss Dinah, and it was a dark night.”

“Oh, Biddy, nonsense, nonsense!  One of the servants must have moved them when she was doing the room.  Have you asked everyone?”

“That couldn’t have happened, Miss Dinah dear.”  Unshakable conviction was in Biddy’s voice.  “I got up late, and I had to get Miss Isabel up in a hurry to go off in the motor.  But I missed the letters directly after she was gone, and I hadn’t left the room—­except to call her.  No one had been in—­not unless they slipped in in those few minutes while me back was turned.  And for what should anyone take such a thing as them letters, Miss Dinah?  There are no thieves in the house.  And them love-letters were worth nothing to nobody saving to Miss Isabel, and they were the very breath of life to her when the black mood was on her.  Whatever she’ll say—­whatever she’ll do—­I don’t dare to think.”

Poor Biddy flourished her apron as though she would throw it over her head.  Her parchment face was working painfully.

Dinah sat on the edge of her bed and watched her, not knowing what to say.

“Where is Miss Isabel?” she asked at last.

“She’s still downstairs with Master Scott, and I’m expecting her up every minute.  It’s herself that ought to be in bed by now, for she’s tired out after her long day; but he’ll be bringing her up directly and then she’ll ask for her love-letters.  There’s never a night goes by but what she kisses them before she lies down.  When ye were ill, Miss Dinah dear, she’d forget sometimes, but ever since she’s been alone again she’s never missed, not once.”

“Have you told Master Scott?” asked Dinah.

Biddy shook her head.  “Would I add to his burdens, poor young gentleman?  He’ll know soon enough.”

“And are you sure you’ve looked everywhere—­everywhere?” insisted Dinah.  “If no one has taken them—­”

“Miss Dinah, I’ve turned the whole room upside down and shaken it,” declared Biddy.  “I’ll take my dying oath that them letters have gone.”

“Could they—­could they possibly have fallen out of the window?” hazarded Dinah.