he voices of the servants in the corridor outside
penetrated his ears. Of course they were peering about, and making
their own comments. Wilson, with her long tongue, the busiest. They were
saying that Captain Levison was not in his room; that his bed had not
been slept in.

Joyce sat on the edge of a chair--she could not stand--watching her
master with a blanched face. Never had she seen him betray agitation so
powerful. Not the faintest suspicion of the dreadful truth yet dawned
upon her. He walked to the door, the open note in his hand; then turned,
wavered, and stood still, as if he did not know what he was doing.
Probably he did not. Then he took out his pocket-book, put the note
inside it, and returned it to his pocket, his hands trembling equally
with his livid lips.

"You need not mention this," he said to Joyce, indicating the note. "It
concerns myself alone."

"Sir, does it say she's dead?"

"She is not dead," he answered. "Worse than that," he added in his
heart.

"Why--who's this?" uttered Joyce.

It was little Isabel, stealing in with a frightened face, in her white
nightgown. The commotion had aroused her.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Where's mamma?"

"Child, you'll catch your death of cold," said Joyce. "Go back to bed."

"But I want mamma."

"In the morning, dear," evasively returned Joyce. "Sir, please, must not
Isabel go back to bed?"

Mr. Carlyle made no reply to the question; most likely he never heard
its import. But he touched Isabel's shoulder to draw Joyce's attention
to the child.

"Joyce--_Miss Lucy_ in future."

He left the room, and Joyce remained silent from amazement. She heard
him go out at the hall door and bang it after him. Isabel--nay, we must
say "Lucy" also--went and stood outside the chamber door; the servants
gathered in a group near, did not observe her. Presently she came
running back, and disturbed Joyce from her reverie.

"Joyce, is it true?"

"Is what true, my dear?"

"They are saying that Captain Levison has taken away my mamma."

Joyce fell back in her chair with a scream. It changed to a long, low
moan of anguish.

"What has he taken her for--to kill her? I thought it was only
kidnappers who took people."

"Child, child, go to bed."

"Oh, Joyce, I want mamma. When will she come back?"

Joyce hid her face in her hands to conceal its emotion from the
motherless child. And just then Miss Carlyle entered on tiptoe, and
humbly sat down on a low