t was no more than Barton's actual duty to call at _The Old English
Bunhouse_ in the afternoon. Here he was welcomed by Mrs. St John
Deloraine, who was somewhat pale and shaken by the horrors of the night.
She had turned all her young customers out, and had stuck up a paper
bearing a legend to the effect that _The Old English Bunhouse_ was
closed for the present and till further notice. A wistful crowd was
drawn up on the opposite side of the street, and was staring at _The
Bunhouse_.

Mrs. St John Deloraine welcomed Barton, it might almost be said, with
open arms. She had by this time, of course, laid aside the outward guise
of _Nitouche_, and was dressed like other ladies, but better.

"My dear Mr. Barton," she exclaimed, "your patient is doing very well
indeed. She will be crazy with delight when she hears that you have
called."

Barton could not help being pleased at this intelligence, even when he
had discounted it as freely as even a very brief acquaintance with Mrs.
Si John Deloraine taught her friends to do.

"Do you think she is able to see me?" he asked.

"I'll run to her room and inquire," said Mrs. St John Deloraine,
fleeting nimbly up the steep stairs, and leaving, like Astrsea, as
described by Charles Lamb's friend, a kind of rosy track or glow behind
her from the chastened splendor of her very becoming hose.

Barton waited rather impatiently till the lady of _The Bunhouse_
returned with the message that he might accompany her into the presence
of the invalid.

A very brief interview satisfied him that his patient was going on even
better than he had hoped; also that she possessed very beautiful and
melancholy eyes. She said little, but that little kindly, and asked
whether Mr. Cranley had sent to inquire for her. Mrs. St. John Deloraine
answered the question, which puzzled Barton, in the negative; and when
they had left Margaret (Miss Burnside, as Mrs. St. John Deloraine called
her), he ventured to ask who the Mr. Cranley might be about whom the
girl had spoken.

"Well," replied Mrs. St. John Deloraine, "it was through Mr. Cranley
that I engaged both Miss Burnside and that unhappy woman whom I can't
think of without shuddering. The inquest is to be held to-morrow. It is
too dreadful when these things, that have been only names, come home to
one. Now, I really do not like to think hardly of anybody, but I must
admit that Mr. Cranley has quite misled me about the housekeeper. He
gave her an excell