Mary fairly started. Was it possible that she was on the track of another family trouble, some new and black disgrace of which she had hitherto known nothing? It seemed hardly fair to take advantage of a weak-minded old woman in this, and yet--
"Who is this Mr. Vincent that you speak of?" Mary asked.
"Mr. Vincent--that is all I can tell you. He is young and handsome, and yet so wicked and unscrupulous. And it is to prevent him from speaking out that my lady has sold all her jewels. They are not hers to sell, but they have been disposed of all the same. I really do know who Mr. Vincent is, and why he has such a hold over her ladyship, but something gets in the way of my brain and I can't think what I ought to say. And I'm so tired."
The old woman suddenly dropped into a chair and began to whine like a child that has walked too far. Mary was accustomed to these sudden changes and knew how to humour them. She fairly lifted the old woman from her seat and led her to the dressing-room. Obedient as a child now, Patience lay down and closed her eyes. A moment later and she had fallen into a placid sleep. Mary regarded her with eyes of envy.
"After all she is better off than I am," she murmured, "and her troubles are nearly over. What a blessing it is to be able to sleep when you want to! And here am I on the brink of a fresh and darker mystery than my own! I begin to understand now why Lady Dashwood looks so haggard and worried. And what does this Vincent know, who can blackmail my poor old second mother in this way! All the family jewels, over £30,000. Oh, how sad it is to be almost without a friend in the world! And yet Ralph Darnley promised me----"
The colour rose to Mary's face as she pronounced Ralph's name. It was the one reflection that sweetened her thoughts as she lay on her bed waiting for the sleep that would not come. She turned from side to side; she could see by the saffron gleam on the blind that the summer dawn was close at hand.
Then at last she fell off into a kind of fitful slumber that was a mass of confused and hideous dreams. She was in some vague, indefinite kind of trouble, tangled up with a scheme of Mayfield's, and across a yawning gulf Ralph Darnley was holding out his hands to save her. And then it seemed to her that Ralph kissed her, and that she did not in the least mind it. After that they drifted apart again, and once more the baleful influence of Mayfield was uppermost. They were falling together down a deep pit with flames at the bottom; the fumes were so great that Mary could not breathe.
She woke up with a gasp and a cry, struggling for breath. The whole thing had been so vivid that Mary could not realise for a moment that she was sitting up in bed. Yet there she was, with the early morning sun shining through the blinds, and still she held her hand to her throat and fought for the breath that would not come.
Surely there must be something wrong here! Why was the room so insufferable, where did that stifling air come from? Then a draught of air came from somewhere, and the bedroom was almost instantly filled with a maze of thin smoke and vapour. There was no longer room for doubt. With a quick cry Mary sprang from her bed, for the Hall was on fire!