The second floor of the l’Estrange house was very different from the first. The hall at the upper end was like a fine drawing-room. There were rugs on the floor and opposite the door of the front bedroom were several easy chairs and a sewing table. The door of this room stood ajar and Virginia led the way inside.

“Mamma,” she said softly, “I want you to meet my four friends who are stopping at the hotel at Palm Beach.”

The girls never forgot the picture of Mrs. l’Estrange in her bedroom. It was all so unreal after the empty old house. It was really a sumptuous chamber, large, and full of polished objects. The light came in dimly through the heavy blue brocaded curtains at the windows and was reflected in the mahogany secretaries and tables and the graceful rosewood lounge at one end.

Mrs. l’Estrange was lying in an invalid’s chair drawn up by a table on which stood a bowl of oranges and a glass vase of flowers. She was a small, slender woman, much like Virginia, only more beautiful, with quantities of pale gold hair and sad blue eyes. A ray of light falling across her thin white face gave her a look of one of the early saints, resigned and gentle, sorrowful and happy, all at once.

“I am so happy to meet my little girl’s friends,” she said, stretching out a small transparent hand through which they could see the pink light shining. “She has told me how kind you have been to her.”

“But she was very kind to us, Mrs. l’Estrange,” replied Elinor. “I don’t know what we would have done if she had not taken us in and given us supper one night when our launch was wrecked in the lake.”

“Ah, but that was nothing,” continued the poor, pretty invalid. “Think how many times she has visited you at the hotel.”

“Oh——” began Billie, and broke off quickly, for Virginia, standing back of her mother’s chair, had put her finger to her lips, and the truth now dawned upon the Motor Maids.

The young girl had told a brave falsehood to her mother to explain her frequent absences from home.

“It’s what might be called a ‘noble lie’,” thought Billie, “but how can they keep it up? And now there’s Edward gone off and left it all to Virginia,” her thoughts continued, but she stifled the notion immediately. “It’s impossible. I believe he will come back, I do, no matter how strange it seems.”

“I am so sorry that Edward, my son, has gone away on a trip with some friends,” went on Mrs. l’Estrange. “But he writes he is having such a beautiful time, I don’t begrudge the boy a change. It is very dull for him here. I wish you could help me persuade him to go to college next year. He should go North and see something of the world, but he will not leave Virginia and me, and as you see, I am quite helpless.”

She spread out her pink hands and smiled faintly.

Presently Virginia, seeing that the girls understood, passed into the next room to change her dress.

They were silent after she left, hardly daring to venture a remark until Nancy threw herself into the breach by saying:

“What a beautiful old house this is, Mrs. l’Estrange. It is as big as a hotel. I never saw so many rooms in a private house.”

“I’m glad you like it, dear. It has been in my family for a great many years and it is rather in disrepair now. The furniture is quite old. I have not bought any in my time except the piano. It was all collected by my mother and grandmother and great-grandmother, too. If you have been in my drawing-room, perhaps you noticed the inlaid desk. It was brought over from France nearly two hundred years ago. I value it more than anything in the house, I think. And if you are interested in such things, you must ask Virginia to show you the tea set which was once owned by Lady Hamilton. And many other things, the silver bowl presented to my great-grandmother by General Lafayette, and a beautiful sword which was given to one of my great-great uncles by General Jackson.”

So the invalid chattered away. It was evident that the lost treasures of that house were her greatest joy and hobby, and her children had never had the heart to tell her they were gone, scattered.

“Perhaps you would like to see my collection of miniatures,” went on Mrs. l’Estrange. “They are just inside the cabinet. Won’t you bring them over, and I can explain them myself.”

On a shelf in the highboy they found two large black velvet plaques on which were pinned a dozen beautiful miniatures, some in jeweled frames.

“These are all my family,” she said. “I shall have the children done to add to the collection as soon as I am well enough to go North. There are no good artists in this part of the country. This is my aunt who danced with the Prince of Wales. She is like Virginia, I think, blonde hair and blue eyes and the same sweet expression. This is my uncle who was presented with the sword. He was a brave soldier.”

“Here is some one who looks very much like your son, Mrs. l’Estrange,” put in Billie.

The picture they were looking at was a tinted photograph showing a handsome young man with black hair and clear blue eyes. It resembled Edward except that the mouth and chin were softer and less resolute in outline. The face indeed was more like Edward Paxton’s.

“Oh,” said Virginia’s mother, “I did not know that was on the plaque. That is my husband’s picture.” She laid it on the table nervously and then picked it up again and looked at it sadly. “My poor husband,” she said softly, continuing to gaze at it so long that the girls felt uncomfortable and embarrassed.

“Who is this?” asked Mary, pointing to another old-fashioned photograph.

The invalid smiled as if the sight of this new face brought up pleasant memories, and the young man in the picture smiled back at her, a kindly, merry smile. It was not a tinted picture and they could only tell that he had dark hair and eyes and a strong, rugged face.

“That,” she said sadly, “was an old and—and dear friend—Ignatius Donahue.”

Virginia hurried into the room at this moment and looked a quick warning at the girls. In another instant they would have exclaimed: “Ignatius Donahue? We travelled down in his private car!”

“Good-bye, Mamma, dearest,” Virginia said, taking the plaque and photographs gently but firmly away from her mother and locking them in the cabinet. “Mammy will take good care of you and I shall be back to-morrow morning. If we are to get to the hotel by lunch time, we had better be hurrying on. It’s a quarter to one now. You won’t forget your drops at half-past, will you, dear? And your tonic to-night? See, I’ll put them here to remind you. Good-bye,” and she kissed her mother twice and hurried the girls out of the room quickly.

The old colored woman was waiting in the hall, probably to go on duty, and Billie heard Virginia whisper as she passed:

“She’s been looking at those pictures again, Mammy.”

Only one thing more happened before they left that mysterious house. Billie, who was the last in the line of young girls to file down the staircase, heard a door creak in the hall and looked back. There, standing in the doorway of one of the other rooms stood a tall, well-built man. A long white bandage was wrapped around and around his head. But it did not hide his rugged face, and at that moment, his lips, for some unknown reason, were curled into a kindly, merry smile. Perhaps it was Uncle Peter who provoked the smile, for he appeared just then with Virginia’s battered old suit case, standing very erect and dignified in his old blue cloth swallowtail with its brass buttons, like the fine old-time servant he was.

On the way back to the hotel, they told Virginia the story of their adventures in the woods.

“Do you think it could have been Dick?” they asked, when they reached the mocking bird part of the history.

“Perhaps,” she answered. “He’s been off all morning. But there are lots of other mocking birds, you know.”

Many and varying were the emotions which reflected themselves in Virginia’s face as she heard of the dangers they had been through. She almost shed tears over the attack of the jaguar, as she called it.

“I didn’t know there were any left around here,” she said. “They are the most dangerous, treacherous animals in the world.”

But when she was questioned about the house in the woods, she pressed her lips together into a thin line of determination and was silent for a moment.

“Did you know there was such a house, with a path connecting directly with your place, Virginia?” asked Billie in her usual direct, honest way that was sometimes embarrassing.

“Oh, yes,” answered the girl, “but the person who lived there is—is dead now.”

“Was he a hermit?” demanded Nancy.

“Yes, something like it.”

“How interesting,” put in Elinor. “And did you really know him?”

“I have seen him,” answered Virginia guardedly.

“He must have walked frequently between your house and his,” said Edward, “because the trail looks as if it had been well trod.”

“And the man who killed the panther?” asked Billie. “Who was he, Virginia? I would like to give him something if it could be arranged. He saved our lives.”

“He does not need anything. He would not like a present, I’m sure, for what he did.”

“You know him, then?”

“I believe so. He is a man who has been staying in this neighborhood for some time.”

And not another word could be got out of Virginia. Soft, pretty little creature that she was, it could be seen that she had a will of her own.

They were not late to luncheon and Miss Campbell had not been uneasy, but it seemed strange to them to be sitting around a snowy damask-spread table in a beautiful big dining-room, with softly treading waiters at every hand to do their bidding and music floating to them from the piazza. Was it only that morning that they had been lost in a wilderness with poisonous snakes and wild animals about them; or had the forest after all been enchanted and was it all a dream?

After drinking tea in the Cocoanut Grove and listening to the concert, they strolled until dinner time in the splendid avenue of palms. But there was one more sensation for the Motor Maids before bedtime. Edward sought them in the evening, and calling Billie off from the others, gave her a letter.

“This was in the old cigar box,” he said.

It was addressed to “Ignatius Donahue, Esq.,” and Billie, after consulting with Elinor, added that gentleman’s New York address under the name, stamped it and dropped it in the mail box at the desk.

It was impossible to fathom the mystery which had wound itself about that name, but if a letter had been waiting for him all this time in the wild wood, he certainly ought to have it as soon as possible.