me strength and prepare me for the bitter truth ultimately awaiting me.  They listened to him and in twenty-four hours our preparations were made.  We saw the house closed—­with what emotions surging in one small breast, I leave you to imagine—­and then started on our long tour.  For five years we wandered over the continent of Europe, my grandfather finding distraction, as well as myself, in foreign scenes and associations.

“But return was inevitable.  What I suffered on reentering this house, God and my sleepless pillow alone know.  Had any discovery been made in our absence; or would it be made now that renovation and repairs of all kinds were necessary?  Time finally answered me.  My secret was safe and likely to continue so, and this fact once settled, life became endurable, if not cheerful.  Since then I have spent only two nights out of this house, and they were unavoidable.  When my grandfather died I had the wainscot door cemented in.  It was done from this side and the cement painted to match the wood.  No one opened the door nor have I ever crossed its threshold.  Sometimes I think I have been foolish; and sometimes I know that I have been very wise.  My reason has stood firm; how do I know that it would have done so if I had subjected myself to the possible discovery that one of both of them might have been saved if I had disclosed instead of concealed my adventure.”

A pause during which white horror had shone on every face; then with a final glance at Violet, he said: 

“What sequel do you see to this story, Miss Strange?  I can tell the past, I leave you to picture the future.”

Rising, she let her eye travel from face to face till it rested on the one awaiting it, when she answered dreamily: 

“If some morning in the news column there should appear an account of the ancient and historic home of the Van Broecklyns having burned to the ground in the night, the whole country would mourn, and the city feel defrauded of one of its treasures.  But there are five persons who would see in it the sequel which you ask for.”

When this happened, as it did happen, some few weeks later, the astonishing discovery was made that no insurance had been put upon this house.  Why was it that after such a loss Mr. Van Broecklyn seemed to renew his youth?  It was a constant source of comment among his friends.

END OF PROBLEM VIII

PROBLEM IX VIOLET’S OWN

“It has been too much for you?”

“I am afraid so.”

It was Roger Upjohn who had asked the question; it was Violet who answered.  They had withdrawn from a crowd of dancers to a balcony, half-shaded, half open to the moon,—­a balcony made, it would seem, for just such stolen interviews between waltzes.

Now, as it happened, Roger’s face was in the shadow, but Violet’s in the full light.  Very sweet it looked, very ethereal, but also a little wan.  He noticed this and impetuously cried: