in her studies. The result is easily stated. Zillah was idle, Hilda was studious, and all that the teachers could impart was diligently mastered by her. CHAPTER VII. THE SECRET CIPHER. Some time passed away, and Gualtier made his usual visits. Zillah's moods were variable and capricious. Sometimes she would languidly declare that she could not take her lesson; at other times she would take it for about ten minutes; and then, rising hastily from the piano, she would insist that she was tired, and refuse to study any more for that day. Once or twice, by an extreme effort, she managed to devote a whole half hour, and then, as though such exertion was superhuman, she would retire, and for several weeks afterward plead that half hour as an excuse for her negligence. All this Gualtier bore with perfect equanimity. Hilda said nothing; and generally, after Zillah's retirement, she would go to the piano herself and take a lesson. These lessons were diversified by general conversation. Often they spoke about Zillah, but very seldom was it that they went beyond this. Miss Krieff showed no desire to speak of the subject which they once had touched upon, and Gualtier was too cunning to be obtrusive. So the weeks passed by without any renewal of that confidential conversation in which they had once indulged. While Zillah was present, Hilda never in any instance showed any sign whatever of anger or impatience. She seemed not to notice her behavior, or if she did notice it she seemed to think it a very ordinary matter. On Zillah's retiring she generally took her place at the piano without a word, and Gualtier began his instructions. It was during these instructions that their conversation generally took place. One day Gualtier came and found Hilda alone. She was somewhat _distrait_, but showed pleasure at seeing him, at which he felt both gratified and flattered. "Where is Miss Pomeroy?" he asked, after the usual greetings had been exchanged. "You will not have the pleasure of seeing her to-day," answered Hilda, dryly. "Is she ill?" "Ill? She is never ill. No. She has gone out." "Ah?" "The General was going to take a drive to visit a friend, and she took it into her head to accompany him. Of course he had to take her. It was very inconvenient--and very ridiculous--but the moment she proposed it he assented, with only a very faint effort at dissuasion. So they have gone, and will not be back for some hours." "I hope you will allow me to say," remarked Gualtier, in a low voice, "that I consider her absence rather an advantage than otherwise." "You could hardly feel otherwise," said Hilda. "You have not yet got a broken head, it is true; but it is coming. Some day you will not walk out of the house. You will be carried out." "You speak bitterly." "I feel bitterly." "Has any thing new happened?" he asked, following up the advantage which her confession gave him. "No; it is the old story. Interminable troubles, which have to be borne with interminable patience." There was a long silence. "You spoke once," said Gualtier at last, in a low tone, "of something which you promised one day to tell me--some papers. You said that you would show them some day when we were better acquainted. Are we not better acquainted? You have seen me now for many weeks since that time, and ought to know whether I am worthy to be trusted or not." "Mr. Gualtier," said Hilda, frankly, and without hesitation, "from my point of view I have concluded that you are worthy to be trusted. I have decided to show you the paper." Gualtier began to murmur his thanks, Hilda waved her hand. "There is no need of that," said she. "It may not amount to any thing, and then your thanks will be thrown away. If it does amount to something you will share the benefit of it with me--though you can not share the revenge," she muttered, in a lower tone. "But, after all," she continued, "I do not know that any thing can be gained by it. The conjectures which I have formed may all be unfounded." "At any rate, I shall be able to see what the foundation is," said Gualtier. "True," returned Hilda, rising; "and so I will go at once and get the paper." "Have you kept it ever since?" he asked. "What! the paper? Oh, you must not imagine that I have kept the original! No, no. I kept it long enough to make a copy, and returned the original to its place." "Where did you find it?" "In the General's private desk." "Did it seem to be a paper of any importance?" "Yes; it was kept by itself in a secret drawer. That showed its importance." Hilda then left the room, and in a short time returned with a paper in her hand. "Here it is," she said, and she gave it to Gualtier. Gualtier took it, and unfolding it, he saw this: Gualtier took this singular paper, and examined it long and earnestly. Hilda had copied out the characters with painful minuteness and beautiful accuracy; but nothing in it suggested to him any revelation of its dark meaning, and he put it down with a strange, bewildered air. "What is it all?" he asked. "It seems to contain some mystery, beyond a doubt. I can gather nothing from the characters. They are all astronomical signs; and, so far as I can see, are the signs of the zodiac and of the planets. Here, said he, pointing to the character [Sun image], is the sign of the Sun; and here, pointing to [Libra image], is Libra; and here is Aries, pointing to the sign [Aries image]. "Yes," said Hilda; "and that occurs most frequently." "What is it all?" "I take it to be a secret cipher." "How?" "Why, this--that these signs are only used to represent letters of the alphabet. If such a simple mode of concealment has been used the solution is an easy one." "Can you solve cipher alphabets?" "Yes, where there is nothing more than a concealment of the letters. Where there is any approach to hieroglyphic writing, or syllabic ciphers, I am baffled." "And have you solved this?" "No." "I thought you said that you had, and that it contained charges against General Pomeroy." "That is my difficulty. I have tried the usual tests, and have made out several lines; but there is something about it which puzzles me; and though I have worked at it for nearly a year, I have not been able to get to the bottom of it." "Are you sure that your deciphering is correct?" "No." "Why not?" "Because it ought to apply to all, and it does not. It only applies to a quarter of it." "Perhaps it is all hieroglyphic, or syllabic writing." "Perhaps so." "In that case can you solve it?"
[Illustration.] "No; and that is one reason why I have thought of you. Have you ever tried any thing of the kind?"
[Illustration: "'What Is It All?' He Asked."] "No; never. And I don't see how you have learned any thing about it, or how you have been able to arrive at any principle of action." "Oh, as to that," returned Hilda, "the principle upon which I work is very simple; but I wish you to try the solution with your own unaided ingenuity. So, simple as my plan is, I will not tell you any thing about it just now." Gualtier looked again at the paper with an expression of deep perplexity. "How am I even to begin?" said he. "What am I to do? You might as well ask me to translate late the Peschito version of the Syriac gospels, or the Rig-Veda." "I think," said Hilda, coolly, "that you have sufficient ingenuity." "I have," said Gualtier; "but, unfortunately, my ingenuity does not lie at all in this direction. This is something different from any thing that has ever come in my way before. See," he said, pointing to the paper, "this solid mass of letters. It is a perfect block, an exact rectangle. How do you know where to begin? Nothing on the letters shows this. How do you know whether you are to read from left to right, or from right to left, like Hebrew and Arabic; or both ways, like the old Greek Boustrephedon; or vertically, like the Chinese; or, for that matter, diagonally? Why, one doesn't know even how to begin!" "That must all be carefully considered," said Hilda. "I have weighed it all, and know every letter by heart; its shape, its position, and all about it." "Well," said Gualtier, "you must not be at all surprised if I fail utterly." "At least you will try?" "Try? I shall be only too happy. I shall devote to this all the time that I have. I will give up all my mind and all my soul to it. I will not only examine it while I am by myself, but I will carry this paper with me wherever I go, and occupy every spare moment in studying it. I'll learn every character by heart, and think over them all day, and dream about them all night. Do not be afraid that I shall neglect it. It is enough for me that _you_ have given this for me to attempt its solution." Gualtier spoke with earnestness and impetuosity, but Hilda did not seem to notice it at all. "Recollect," she said, in her usual cool manner, "it is as much for your interest as for mine. If my conjecture is right, it may be of the utmost value. If I am wrong, then I do not know what to do." "You think that this implicates General Pomeroy in some crime?" "That is my impression, from my own attempt at solving it. But, as I said, my solution is only a partial one. I can not fathom the rest of it, and do not know how to begin to do so. That is the reason why I want your help." CHAPTER VIII. DECIPHERING. Many weeks passed away before Gualtier had another opportunity of having a confidential conversation with Miss Krieff. Zillah seemed to be perverse. She was as capricious as ever as to her music: some days
