"Oh, no! no! I can not!" she answered him, piteously.
"Why?" he demanded, with something very much like an imprecation upon his lips.
"I dropped the money in the dining-room as I was passing through it to get out into the grounds. The room is locked; I can not get it until to-morrow morning. Old Joe always carries the key with him."
"It is a lie!" he cried, fiercely.
"No! no! On my life, it is true!" she answered, with a piteous quiver in her voice; adding: "I was hurrying through the room, and there I must have dropped it. I searched for it in every other place."
"Then hear what I say," he retorted, with an oath, "in these very grounds I shall stay until you come to me. I know well that old Joe is astir at dawn. You must be up then, find the money which you say you dropped, and bring it out to me. I will be waiting for you at the same place."
Before she could utter a word of protest, he had turned and disappeared in the darkness.
All night long Ida Mallard paced the floor of her room, scarcely heeding the hours that dragged their slow lengths by. Dawn came before she realized it. She was startled from her reverie by hearing old Joe throwing open the shutters about the house. That recalled her to a realization of passing events.
Joe had unlocked the door of the dining-room at last, but his sight was so poor that he could not espy a small roll of bills lying on the floor.
Ida, gliding into the room as soon as his footsteps echoed down the corridor, found the package.