Dora did not remain long with Lady Burville after she had heard the story; nor did her mother desire her to stay. There was no love lost between them, therefore there was no joy at their meeting, no sorrow at their parting. Lady Burville considered her daughter to be cold, proud, and unsympathetic. Dora saw that Lady Burville was a weak and fool, whom she could neither respect nor love. They parted with a feeling of relief, but not before Lady Burville had extracted a promise of silence.  
"You must say nothing about what I've told you to anybody," she said . "My husband would never forgive me if he found out my past history. I told it to you so as to clear myself in your eyes as to the murder. Only Pallant knows my story, and he will keep silent while I give him money. As you are my child, you must be silent also. Say nothing--nothing."
 
"But I wish to find out who killed my guardian," said Dora.
 
"I tell you it was Carew. No one else had any reason to kill him. If you denounce Carew, you will hang your own father. Promise me to be silent."
 
"I promise," said Dora , and took her leave in the calmest manner.
 
She returned to Selling, and thence rode to Chillum on her bicycle. It was close on eight before she got home, and she found Joad waiting for her at the gate. He looked pleased to see her, and wheeled the machine into the grounds.
 
"You are late," said he, following her every movement with greedy eyes. "I hope you had a pleasant day with your friend."
 
"Very pleasant, Mr. Joad. Good-night; I am tired."
 
She walked off with a stiff nod, and left her elderly lover looking after her with a rather sulky expression. He had missed her greatly during the day, and resented her departure when he wanted to have a little chat before retiring to his own domicile across the road.
 
"Never mind," Joad, rubbing his hands. "She'll have to marry me, or see Allen Scott in as a murderer. And when we are man and wife, I'll find out some way to tame her proud spirit."
 
Dora partook of supper with Mrs. Tice, but answered that good lady's questions in a perfunctory manner. The was anxious and uneasy. The visit of Dora to town struck her as strange--the more so as she connected it with recent events. Before departing Dora had promised an explanation of her movements, and Mrs. Tice waited for the fulfilment of that promise. But Dora said nothing. She ate her supper, talked on general subjects, and finally took herself off to bed without a word of explanation. Mrs. Tice was annoyed.
 
"Miss Carew," she said, following her to the door, "I beg your pardon, but you promised to tell me why you went up to town to-day."
 
"Did I?" said Dora carelessly. "I've changed my mind, then."
 
"I do not see why you should keep me in the dark, miss," exclaimed the housekeeper, in a tone.
 
"If you cast back your memory to our last conversation, you will see, Mrs. Tice. You are keeping me in the dark; so, by in the same way towards you, I am only giving you a Roland for an Oliver."
 
"All the same, you could do worse than ask my advice, Miss Carew."
 
"I have asked it, and you refuse to help me. Now I must see after things in my own way."
 
"You will get into trouble if you are not careful," said Mrs. Tice sharply.
 
"It will be no thanks to you if I do not," retorted Dora bitterly. "You have refused to help me."
 
"What would you have me do, girl?" cried Mrs. Tice, forgetting her respect in her anxiety. "I dare not tell you what I know. Mr. Allen made me promise to be silent."
 
"Allen is acting in a very foolish manner, and so are you," said Dora quietly; "you seem to think that I am a child, to whom no secret can be . In ordinary cases, this would not matter to me, as I am the least curious of women. But as my happiness is at stake, I must strive to learn what you would want ."
 
"It will do you no good if you do find out," said Mrs. Tice .
 
"Perhaps not; but at least its discovery will throw a light on the mystery of this murder."
 
"There you are wrong, Miss Carew. It will do no such thing."
 
Dora had argued this point before; therefore she made no reply, and with a weary nod prepared to leave the room. Again Mrs. Tice laid a detaining hand upon her sleeve.
 
"Tell me, my dear," said she timidly, "what is it Mr. Allen said to you about the murder?"
 
"You had better ask him, Mrs. Tice; it is no good coming to me. Unless you tell me what you know, I shall keep silent as to my knowledge."
 
"Does Mr. Allen know anything about this crime?"
 
"Yes, he does; he knows a great deal."
 
"Does he know who killed Mr. Edermont?"
 
"He does--and you know also."
 
"No, no; I--I do not!" Mrs. Tice, shrinking back; "my knowledge has nothing to do with the matter."
 
"Has your knowledge anything to do with my father?"
 
Mrs. Tice gasped again, and sank into a chair. For a moment she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again Dora was gone. The housekeeper wiped her face.
 
"Who can have told her about her father?" she . "If she gets to know about him, there will be trouble."
 
Then she drank a glass of water, and put away her work. But her thoughts wandered.
 
"What has come to her?" she said to herself again, as she made all safe for the night. "There is a worried look on her face, an anxious expression in her eyes. And why did she go up to London? Can she have learnt anything about the past? No, no. Mr. Allen knows it, Mr. Joad knows it, and myself. None of the three will tell her. Still, that question about her father! It is very, very strange."
 
In the meantime Dora was leaning out of her bedroom window, looking into the soft darknes............