CHAPTER XXIII.
MY LADY'S SECRET.
It was quite dark before prudent Mr.Parmalee, notwithstanding Sybilla's assurance that the baronet was away from home, ventured within the great entrance gates of the park.

He was not, as he said himself, a coward altogether; but he had a lively recollection of the pummeling he had already received, and a wholesome dread of the scientific hitting of this strong-fisted young aristocrat.

When he did venture, his coat-collar was so pulled up that recognition was next to impossible.
Mr.Parmalee, smoking a cigar, made his way to the Beech Walk, and leaning against a giant tree, stared at the moon, and waited.

The loud-voiced turret clock struck eight a moment after he had taken his position.
"Time is up," thought the photographer.

"My lady ought to be here now.
I'll give her another quarter.