fty; so
lofty that the architect, presumably afraid of hitting heaven with his
patent chimney cowls, had sunk the lowest storey deep into the earth.
Looking over the high palisades which protected the pavement from the
precipice thus made, one could plainly see the lowest storey and all that
was therein.

"Whoever can she be staying with?" exclaimed Miss Ingate. "It's a
marchioness at least. There's no doubt the very best people are now in the
movement."

Audrey went first up massive steps, and, choosing with marked presence of
mind the right bell, rang it, expecting to see either a butler or a
footman.

A young woman, however, answered the ring. She wore a rather shabby serge
frock, but no apron, and she did not resemble any kind of servant. Her
ruddy, heavy, and slightly resentful face fronted the visitors with a
steady, challenging stare.

"Does Miss Nickall live here?" asked Audrey.

"Aye! She does!" came the answer, with a northern accent.

"We've come to see how she is."

"Happen ye'd better step inside, then," said the young woman.

They stepped inside to an enormous and obscure interior; the guardian
banged the door, and negligently led them forward.

"It is a large house," Miss Ingate ventured, against the silent
intimidation of the place.

"One o' them rich uns," said the guardian. "She lends it to the Cause when
she doesn't want it herself, to show her sympathy. Saves her a
caretaker--they all know I'm one to look right well after a house."

Having passed two very spacious rooms and a wide staircase, she opened the
door of a smaller but still a considerable room.

"Here y'are," she muttered.

This room, like the others, was thoroughly sheeted, and thus presented a
misty and spectral appearance. All the chairs, the chandelier, and all the
pictures, were masked in close-fitting pale yellow. The curtains were down,
the carpet was up, and a dust sheet was spread under the table in the
middle of the floor.

"Here's some friends of yours," said the guardian, throwing her words
across the room.

In an easy chair near the fireplace sat Miss Nickall, her arm in splints
and in a sling. She was very thin and very pallid, and her eyes brightly
glittered. The customary kind expression of her face was modified, though
not impaired, by a look of vague apprehension.

"Mind how ye handle her," the guardian gave warning, when Nick yielded
herself to be embraced.

"You're just a bit of my Paris come to se