And so after much talk it was arranged that Halcyone should make several journeys, taking the gold to the long gallery and then the crucifix; and then the box could be lifted and repacked again there.  And, when she had it all stowed away carefully in the recess of the paneling, she and Cheiron should go openly to the back door and let the caretaker know they had arrived, and go into the house—­and there ostensibly find the treasure.  Then they would write to the Misses La Sarthe about their discovery, and take the box to Applewood and deposit it in the bank until their return.

All this took a long time but was duly carried out, and about eight o’clock Halcyone and the Professor were able to go back, carrying the crucifix with them, to keep it safe for the night and then to put it back with the gold and the parchment, before they took the box to the bank on the morrow.

“It may be worth more still and there is a good deal of gold,” the Professor said, “and their coins would be worth more now.  You will be quite a little heiress some day, dear child.”

“I do not care the least about money, Cheiron,” she said, “but I shall be so glad for the aunts.”

And when eventually the old ladies received the news of their fortune there was much rejoicing, and by following Cheiron’s advice they were not defrauded and might look forward to a most comfortable end to their lives.  Miss Roberta even dreamed of a villa at the seaside and a visit to London Town!

But meanwhile the Professor and Halcyone went back to London and on the Saturday left for Dieppe.

London, perhaps from her numbed state of misery, had said nothing to Halcyone.  It remained in her memory as a nightmare, the scene of the confirmation of her winter of the soul.  Its inhabitants were ghosts, the young men—­jolly, hearty, young fellows from the Stock Exchange, and rising Radical politicians whom she had met—­went from her record of things as so many shadows.

The vast buildings seemed as prisons, the rush and flurry as worrying storms, and even the parks as only feeble reminders of her dear La Sarthe Chase.

Nothing had made the least real impression upon her except Kensington Gardens, and they to the end of her life would probably be only a reminder of pain.

But her first view of the sea!

That was something revivifying!

Her memory of the one occasion when she had gone to Lowestoft with her mother was too dim to be anything of a reality, and, when they got to Newhaven, the Professor and Priscilla and she, with a brisk summer wind blowing the green-blue water into crested wavelets, the first cry of life and joy escaped her and gladdened Cheiron’s heart.

How wonderful the voyage was!  She took in every smallest change in the tones of the sky—­she watched the waves from the forepart of the bridge, and some new essence of life and the certainty that her night forces would never desert her made themselves felt and cheered her.