“We are quite alone, and we have been so miserable over Mr. Hambleton’s illness,” she pleaded quite illogically.  “Do stay and cheer us up!”

And so Melanie was persuaded; easily, too, except for her compunctions about abusing the hospitality of a household whose first care must necessarily be for the sick.

“I want to stay,” she said frankly.  “The house breathes the very air of restfulness itself; and I haven’t seen the garden at all!” She walked back over the lawn, looked admiringly out toward the garden, with its purple and yellow flowers, then gazed into the lofty thicket above her head, where the high elm spread its century-old branches.  Agatha, standing a little apart and looking at Melanie, was again struck by some haunting familiarity about her face and figure.  She wondered where she could have seen Miss Reynier before.

Aleck Van Camp, appearing round the corner of the house, made elaborate bows to the two ladles.

“Good morning, Miss Redmond!” He greeted her cordially, plainly glad to see her.  “I slept the sleep of the blest up there in your fragrant loft.  Good morning, Miss Reynier!” He walked over and formally took Melanie’s hand for an instant.  “I knew it was decreed that you two should be friends,” he went on, in his deliberate way.  “In fact, I’ve been waiting for the moment when I could have the pleasure of introducing you myself, and here you have managed to dispense with my services altogether.  But let me escort you into the house.  Sallie says her raised biscuits are all ready for luncheon.”

Agatha, looking at her new friend’s vivid face, saw that Mr. Van Camp was not an unwelcome addition to their number.  She had a quick superstitious feeling of happiness at the thought that the old red house, gathering elements of joy about its roof, was her possession and her home.

“I’ve promised to show Miss Reynier some queer old books after luncheon,” she said.

Aleck wrinkled his brow.  “I’ll try not to be jealous of them.”

CHAPTER XIX

MR. CHAMBERLAIN, SLEUTH

Unbeknown to himself, Mr. Chamberlain possessed the soul of a conspirator.  Leaving Aleck Van Camp at the crisp edge of the day, he fell into deep thought as he walked toward the village.  As he reviewed the information he had received, he came more and more to adopt Agatha’s cause as his own, and his spirit was fanned into the glow incident to the chase.

He walked briskly over the country road, descended the steep hill, turning over the facts, as he knew them, in his mind.  By the time he reached Charlesport, he regarded his honor as a gentleman involved in the capture of the Frenchman.  His knowledge of the methods of legal prosecutions, even in his own country, was extremely hazy.  He had never been in a situation, in his hitherto peaceful career, in which it had been necessary to appeal to the law, either on his own behalf or on that of his friends.