The man whom Nell and Falconer had mistaken for Dick passed through the lodge gates, and, turning to the right, walked quickly, but not hurriedly, beside the high park fencing, and presently came up with a dogcart which was being walked slowly along the road.

The cart was a very shabby one, but the horse was a very good one, and looked as if it could stretch itself if it were required to do so. In the cart was a young man in clerical attire. He looked like a curate, and his voice had the regulation drawl as he leaned down and asked:

"Well, Ted?"

The man addressed as Ted shook his head.

"The girl was right," he said, with an air of disappointment. "She's got 'em all on."

"Then it's no use trying it to-night," said the curate. "Perhaps a little later? It must be darkish for some time."

Ted shook his head again.

"No use! Too risky. It will be hours before they all go to bed and the house is quiet; the servants always keep it up after a big affair like this; some of 'em won't go to bed at all, perhaps. Besides, I was spotted just now."

The Parson, as he was called by the burgling fraternity, of which he and Ted were distinguished members, swore under his breath.

"How was that?" he asked.

"I was looking in at one of the windows of the servants' quarters, getting a word or two with the girl, when a couple of the swells came along. They saw me, and mistook me for some one by the name of Dick, and called to me. I walked off as quickly as I could, and I swear they didn't see my face, neither then nor just now, when, as luck would have it, they caught sight of me going out of the gates. They went into the lodge with the young fellow they'd mistaken me for."

The Parson swore again.

"What's to be done? Did you see the things?"

Ted nodded emphatically.

"Yes! They're the best swag I've ever seen. There's a fortune in them; and, if we had any luck, we might get a few more in addition."

"They'll be in the bank to-morrow," said the Parson gloomily. "These swells know how to take care of their jewelry, especially when they're family diamonds like these. We've lost our chance for the present, Ted. Jump up."

But Ted shook his head.

"Not yet. The girl promised to meet me if she could, and I reckon she'll try to." He smiled and smoothed his mustache. "You drive on slowly and wait for me at the turn of the road. I'll come to you, say, in a quarter of an hour."

The dogcart went on, and Ted followed until he came to a small gate in the park fencing, and, opening this, he stood just inside it. His hand went to his pocket for his pipe, but, with the smoker's sigh, he dropped it back again, for he could not risk striking a match.

After he had been waiting there for a few minutes he heard footsteps and the rustle of a skirt among the undergrowth, and presently a woman stole out from the darkness, and, running up to the man, clutched his arm, panting and trembling with fear and excitement.

Now, when Lord and Lady Wolfer had started for the Continent, on the day of what may be called their reconciliation, Burden, her maid, had refused to go. She was a bad sailor, and hated what she called "foreign parts"; and she begged her mistress to leave her behind. Lady Wolfer, full of sympathy in her newly found happiness, had not only let the girl off, but had made her a handsome present, and given her an excellent written character.

Burden took a holiday, and went home to her people, who kept what is called a "sporting public" in the east of London.

Sport, like charity, is made to cover a lot of sins; and Burden, while assisting in the bar of the pub, made the acquaintance of several persons who were desirable neither in the matter of morals nor manners.

One of these was a good-looking young fellow who went by the name of Ted. He was supposed to be a watchmaker and jeweler by trade—a working jeweler—but he spent most of his time at the public which Burden now adorned, and though he certainly did not carry on his trade there, always appeared to have as much money as leisure.

Cupid, who seems to be indifferent to his surroundings, hovered about the smoky and beery regions of the Blue Pig, and very soon worked mischief between Burden and Ted.

He was pleasant spoken as well as good-looking, and had a free-and-easy way, was always ready with an order for the play or one of the music halls, and—in short, Burden fell in love with him. But when he asked her to marry him, Burden, who was a respectable girl, and, as Lady Wolfer's maid, had held a good position for one of her class, began to make inquiries.

She did not go on with them, but she learned enough to rouse her suspicions.

The jewelry business evidently served as a blind for less honest pursuits. She took alarm, and, like a sensible girl, fled the paternal pub and sought a fresh situation.

As chance—there is no such thing, of course—would have it, Lady Luce was changing maids at this time.

Burden, armed with her most excellent and fully deserved "character," applied for and obtained the situation.

She ought to have been thankful for her escape, and happy and contented in a service which, though very different from that of Lady Wolfer's, was good enough. But Burden had lost her heart; and when one has lost one's heart, happiness is impossible.

She longed for a sight, just a sight, of her good-looking Ted; and one day, while the Turfleighs were stopping at Brighton, her heart's desire was gratified.

She saw her handsome Ted on the pier. He was, if anything, handsomer than ever, was beautifully dressed—quite the gentleman, in fact, and though Burden had fully intended to just bow and pass on, she stopped and talked to him. Cupid slipped round her the chains from which she had so nearly freed herself, and——The woman who goes back to a man is indeed completely lost.

They met every day; but alas, alas! Ted no longer spoke of marriage; and his influence over the woman who loved him unwisely and too well, grew in proportion to her devotion and helplessness.

She soon learned that the man to whom she had given herself was a criminal, one of a skillful gang of burglars. But it was too late to draw back; too late even to refuse to help him.

It was Burden who clung to the man in hiding behind the park gate.

"What made you hurry so, old girl?" he said soothingly, and putting his arm round her. "What's your fear?"

"Oh, Ted, Ted!" she gasped. "It's so dark——"

"All the better," he said coolly. "Less chance of any one seeing you."

"But some one saw you as you were standing by the window. It was Miss Lorton—they called out—they may have suspicions."

"Don't you worry," he said. "They only thought it was some one after one of the girls. And it was the truth, wasn't it? What a frightened little thing it is! You'd be scared by your own shadow!"

"I am! I am, Ted!" said the unhappy girl. "I start at the slightest noise; and I'm so—so nervous, that I expect Lady Lucille to send me away every day."

The man frowned.

"She mustn't do that," he said, half angrily. "I can't have that; it would be precious awkward just now! That would spoil all our plans."

"I know! I know!" she moaned. "Oh, if you'd only give it up! Give it up this time, only this one time to please me, Ted, dear."

He shook his head.

"I'd do anything to please you, but I'm not alone in this plant, you know; there's others; and I can't go back on my pals; so you mustn't go back on me."

He spoke in the tone which the man who has the woman in his power can use so effectually; then his voice grew softer, and he stroked her cheek gently.

"And think of what this means if we pull this off, Fan! No more dodging and hiding, no more risks of chokee and a 'life' for me, and no more slaving and lady's-maiding for you! We'll be off together to some foreign clime, as the poet calls it; and, with plenty of the ready, I fancy you'll cut a dash as Mrs. Ted."

It was the one bait which he knew would be irresistible. She caught her breath, and, pressing closer to him, looked up into his eyes eagerly.

"You mean it, Ted? You won't deceive me again? You'll keep your word?"

"Honor bright!" he responded. "Why shouldn't I? You know I'm fond of you. I'd have married you months ago if I'd struck a piece of luck like this; but what was the use of marrying when I had to—work, and there was the chance of my being collared any day of the week? No! But I promise you that if we pull this off, I am going to settle down; I shall be glad enough to do it. We'll have a little cottage, or a flat on the Continong, eh, Fan? Is the countess going to send the diamonds back to the bank to-morrow?"

He put the question abruptly, but in a low and impressive voice.

Burden shook her head.

"No," she replied reluctantly. "I—I asked her maid; they were talking about them just before I came out. Everybody was talking about them at the ball, and her ladyship's maid gives herself airs on account of them."

"Gases about them? Very natural. And she says?"

"There's a dinner party the night after next, and the countess thought it wasn't worth while sending them to the bank for one day. She's going to keep them in the safe in her room."

Ted's eyes glistened, and he nodded.

"Who keeps the key of the safe, Fan?" he asked; and though they were far from any chance of listeners, his voice dropped to a whisper.

"The countess," replied Burden, still reluctantly.

He nodded.

"I must have that key, Fan. Yes, yes! Remember what we are playing for, you and me! You get that key and put it in the corner of the windowsill where I was standing to-night."

"No, no!" she panted. His arm loosened, and he looked down at her coldly.

"You mean that you won't? Very well, then. But look here, my girl, we mean having these diamonds, with or without your help. You can't prevent us, for I don't suppose you'd be low enough to split and send me to penal servitude——"

"Ted! Ted!" she wailed, and put her arms round him.

He smiled to himself over her bowed head.

"What's the best time? While they're at dinner?"

She made a sign in the negative.

"No," she whispered, setting her teeth, as if every word were dragged from her. "No; the maid will be in the room putting the countess' things away; afterward—while they are in the drawing-room."

He bent and kissed her, his eyes shining eagerly.

"There! You've got more sense than I have, by a long chalk! I should never have thought of the maid being in the room. Clever Fan! Now, you'll put the key on the sill—when? Say ten o'clock. And you'll see, Fan, that the little window on the back staircase isn't locked, and keep at watch for us?"

"No, no!" she panted. "I will not! I cannot! I—I should faint! Don't ask me, Ted; don't—don't, dear! I shall say 'I'm ill'—and I shall be—and go to bed!"

"Not you!" he said, cheerfully and confidentially. "You'll just hang about the landing and keep watch for us; and if there's any one there to spoil our game, you'll go to the window and say, just loud enough for us to hear: 'What a fine night!'"

She hid her face on his breast, struggling with her sobs.

"Why, what is there to be afraid of!" he said. "If all's clear we shall have the things in a jiffy, and if it isn't we shall take our hook as quietly as we came, and no one will be the wiser. Should you like Boulogne, Fan, or should you like Brussels? We could be married directly we got on the other side. Boulogne's not half a bad place, and you'd look rather a swell at the Casino."

It was the irresistible argument again. She raised her head.

"You—you will go quietly; there will be no—no violence, Ted?"

"Is it likely?"

She shuddered.

"There—there was in that case at Berkeley Square, Ted!" and she shuddered again.

His face darkened.

"That was an accident. The gentleman was an obstinate old fool. But there's no fear of anything of that kind in this affair. I tell you we shall not be in the house more than five minutes, and if we're seen it won't matter. I'm in decent togs, and my pal is the model of a curate. Any one seeing us would think we were visitors in the house. You shall have a regular wedding dress, Fan. White satin and lace—real lace, mind you! Come, give us a kiss to say that it's done with, Fan!"

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, and with a choking sob she clung to him for a moment as if she could not tear herself away. But, having got what he wanted, the man was anxious to be off.

"Ten o'clock, mind, Fan! And a sharp lookout. There, let me put your shawl round your head. I'll wait here till I hear you're out of the wood."

But he remained only a moment or two after she had left him, and, with quick, light steps, he joined his confederate.

"It's all right," he said, as he got into the dogcart. "I've found out what I wanted. And I've managed with the girl. Had a devil of a job, though! That's the worst of women! You've always got to play the sentimental with them; nothing short of making love or offering to marry 'em is any use. It's a pity this kind of thing can't be worked without a petticoat. There's always trouble and bother when they come in. To-morrow night, Parson, ten o'clock, you and I are men or mice; but it's going to be men," he added, between his teeth. "Did you bring my barker as well as your own?"

The Parson touched the side pocket of his overcoat, and nodded significantly.