Priscilla looked all around the room.  In vain; the neat brown-leather purse, which held the key, some very precious memoranda of different sorts and her small store of worldly wealth, was nowhere to be found.

She stood still for a moment in perplexity.  All her nervous fears had now completely vanished; a real calamity and a grave one stared her in the face.  Suppose her purse were gone?  Suppose it had been stolen?  The very small supply of money which that purse contained was most precious to Priscilla.  It seemed to her that nothing could well be more terrible than for her now to have to apply to Aunt Raby for fresh funds.  Aunt Raby had stinted herself dreadfully to get Priscilla’s modest little outfit together, and now—­ oh, she would rather starve than appeal to her again.

Suddenly as she stood in the middle of her room a memory came back to her.  It was the recollection of a very trivial incident.  She remembered something dropping on the floor as she sat by Maggie’s side at dinner.  She had felt too nervous and miserable at the time to take any notice of the slight sound made by the fall, but now it returned vividly to her memory.  She was sure that her purse must have dropped out of her pocket at that moment, and was now convinced that it was now lying quietly under the table where she had sat.

Priscilla felt far too excited to wait until the morning to make herself sure on this point.  No; happen what might, she would set her fears at rest now and find her way somehow through the strange and sleeping house until she discovered her lost treasure.

Partly re-dressing, she took her candle in her hand and softly unhasped her door.  It was a well-oiled lock and made no click or noise of any kind as she turned the handle.  When she opened the door wide it did not creak.  The long corridor outside had a stone floor and was richly carpeted.  No fear of treacherous, creaking boards here.  Priscilla prepared to walk briskly down the length of the corridor, when she was arrested by seeing a light streaming out of Maggie Oliphant’s room.

The electric lights were all extinguished, and this light alone shone like a ray in the darkness.

Prissie stood still, with a gasp of dismay.  She did not want Maggie to hear her now.  She would have been distressed at Maggie being acquainted with her carelessness.  She felt sure that a girl like Maggie Oliphant could never understand what a little purse, which only contained a sovereign or two, would mean to her.

On tiptoe, and shading the candle with her hand, she stole past the partly open door.  A rich tapestry curtain hung at the other side, and Maggie doubtless thought the door was shut.

Priscilla had almost gone past the open door, when her steps were again arrested by the sound of voices.  Some one said “Priscilla Peel,” and then some one else laughed.

Priscilla stood perfectly still.  Of course she had no right to listen, but she did.  She waited breathless, in an agony of expectation, for the next words.