"Me too!" echoed Bess. "If this suspense doesn't come to an end soon, I'll be a failure for the term!"
"Same here!" agreed Corinne. "I do envy Margaret, for she at least can be working at it all day and satisfying her curiosity. Have you discovered much more, honey?" Margaret smiled her slow, mysterious smile. She was certainly enjoying herself, in a brand-new fashion these days. And between meetings she guarded her secrets like a veritable sphinx.
"Something's happening right along!" she answered enigmatically. "But I've rather a surprise for you to-day."
"What is it?" they demanded in one voice.
"I sha'n't tell you till we come to it!" was her maddening reply. "Shall I go on now?"
"Just a minute," said Corinne. "I want to say that I looked up that old song last night. In this collection I have, there is given a little history of each song. Now, 'The Lass of Richmond Hill' was written about a young girl, a Miss Janson, who lived on Richmond Hill, which is near the little town of Leybourne, in England. It was written way back about 1770, and the song was said to be a favorite of King George the Third. It was quite popular at the time. That's absolutely all about it. Of course, it's possible that place may be the one where Alison was, but somehow I don't feel very sure of it. I rather think that what she says about 'Richmond Hill' must have some other connection. Now go on, Margaret!"
"Very well," began Margaret. "We left off with the words, 'He has come!' He seems to be a very mysterious person, and some one of great importance evidently. She goes on to say:
"The house has been put at his disposal. Not, however, by Madame M., for she would gladly slam the door in his face were she able, but she is still in bed, ill. He is very considerate, and does naught to disturb or annoy her. His servants and men are all about, but they do not molest any of the household. Phœbe remains the housekeeper and caters for him. She adores him, as does her father, so she tells me.
"I have exchanged no words with him. I have only seen him as he sits in the library or walks about the grounds. He is absent much—away in the city, Phœbe says. He is handsome and grave and stern, but I think he is kind and gentle. I long to speak with him, but I dare not. I am too carefully watched.
"The steward is still here, and frequents much Corbie's tavern. He asked me yesterday a few questions about Bermuda. I did not care to have speech with him so I cut him short. He gave me an ugly look as he walked away."
Margaret stopped here to say, "Now comes something exciting!"