's pace over the sodden
roads. For the last twenty-four hours it had been raining heavily, now
the air was moistened by a Scotch mist. Sophy sat forward on the musty
seat, her hands gripped together, thinking of those other times she had
driven to Dynehurst through the night--first as a bride--then as a
widow, with her husband's body following in that huge, oblong black
box, that now lay in the crypt of the little chapel.... When they drove
past the chapel a fit of shivering seized her. She set her teeth to keep
them from chattering. Now the cliff-like house loomed. She saw the files
of lighted windows, but the nursery was at the back, she could not see
if there were still lights in his window. Her heart began a sick
throbbing. Was he asleep, her Bobby, her little son? Or did he lie
awake, wretched, unhappy, wondering about it all--longing for her so
that he could not sleep? She wanted to cry out to him that she was
coming. She could scarcely wait for the fly to draw up at the front
door. Before Mr. Surtees could assist her, she was out and up the steps.
She rang twice. Rage woke in her as she stood waiting for admittance
into the house where her son was shut from her as in a prison. She
trembled with her pent anger more than she had trembled in passing
Cecil's tomb. Then a footman opened the door. She stepped past him
without a word, and ran towards the stairway.

Mr. Surtees hurried after her.

"Wait ... wait, Mrs. Chesney ... be advised ... I implore you...." he
panted.

But Sophy did not even hear him. Her son ... she was going to her son
... that was all that she knew or felt in that moment.

She had not mounted five steps before she saw Lady Wychcote and Bellamy
coming down.

She stopped and threw back her head with a fierce gesture.

"I've come for my son," she said, her eyes on Lady Wychcote's. "Where is
my son?"

Both Lady Wychcote and Bellamy stood staring down at her without a word,
and something in their faces made her suddenly shrivel with fear. She
reached them in a bound or two, seized Lady Wychcote's arm, holding her
as in a vice. Her wild look went from one pale face to the other.

"What's the matter? What have you done to him?" she gasped. "Where is
he?"

She loosed Lady Wychcote as suddenly as she had seized her. Now her
frantic, asking fingers grasped Bellamy.

"Is he ill? Is he ... dead?" she stammered.

Then with the same violent quickness she released Bellamy also before
he could re