Henceforth the relations of the two were much more unembarrassed, for it was a brother and sister connection--frank and markedly comfortable. During the remainder of Madame Alpenny's absence, Hench took Zara about as usual, and she confided in him her love for Bracken, her plans for the accomplishment of that love, and her many difficulties with her mother. Madame Alpenny, it seemed, was by no means an angel, as she possessed a furious temper, and wasted all her money in gambling. She was an ill woman to cross, since her nature was vindictive and eminently determined to have its own way. Zara gave Hench to understand that if she could marry Bracken and pension her mother she would be truly happy. At present she was very miserable, and only the hope of escaping from her mother's clutches in the manner described enabled her to endure trouble. Hench, in his new character of her brother, consoled her, and promised to do what he could to forward her aims. But he did not see at the present moment how he could do anything.
Madame Alpenny returned on the third day, but the other absentees still remained away. The old woman looked very satisfied with herself, and hinted that she had done good business which would improve Zara's position. She was markedly civil to Hench, and encouraged him greatly to pay attentions to her daughter. As the two now understood one another, to do this was easy--both for Hench to pay them and for Zara to receive them--but Madame Alpenny remained in the dark as to the true meaning of their comedy. Then, on the second day after her return, a surprising thing happened, with which she had to do. What it was Hench learned while sitting at a lonely breakfast. Madame Alpenny, who always took that meal in her own room, came down unexpectedly arrayed in a greasy dressing-gown and flourishing a newspaper in her hand. "Rhaiadr! Rhaiadr!" she called out excitedly. "What does it mean?" Hench looked at her in surprise. "Tumbling water, you told me," he said, after an astonished pause. "Don't you remember----?"
"No! No! I don't mean that." She clapped The Express on the table before him, and pointed with one chubby finger at an advertisement. "I mean, what do you make of that? Rhaiadr! No one can have anything to do with that word but your father--and you."
Hench, more puzzled than ever by her excitement, read the advertisement upon which her finger rested. "If Rhaiadr," he read aloud, "will come to the Gipsy Stile at Cookley, Essex, at eight o'clock on the 1st of July, he will hear of something greatly to his advantage."
"There!" said Madame Alpenny triumphantly, and looking more shapeless than ever in her dressing-gown; "what do you think of that?"
"It has nothing to do with me," said Hench, with a shrug.
"Nothing to do with you!" she screamed. "Why, the name Rhaiadr shows that it has everything to do with you. Go there and see what it means. Ah, I always said that you were a mystery; now I am sure of it." And she rubbed her hands.