to her own. She felt she had a task cut out for
her. The twins had in all probability gone out. Their curious reticence
had been the most painful part of poor Martha's night-vigil. She had to
try to comfort the little girls who would not confide one particle of
their trouble to her. At intervals they had broken into violent fits of
sobbing, but they had never spoken; they had not even mentioned Betty's
name. By and by, towards morning, they each allowed Martha to clasp one
arm around them, and had dropped off into an uneasy slumber.

Now they were doubtless out of doors. But where? Martha was by no means
acquainted with the haunts of the twins. She knew Sibyl Ray fairly well,
and had always been kind to her; but up to the present the younger
Vivian girls had not seemed to need any special kindness. They were
hearty, merry children; they were popular in the school, and had made
friends of their own. She wanted to seek for them now, but it never
occurred to her for a single moment where they might possibly be
discovered.

The grounds round Haddo Court were very extensive, and Martha did not
leave a yard of these grounds unexplored, yet nowhere could she find the
twins. At last she came back to the house, tired out and very miserable.
She ran once more to her own room, wondering if they were now there. The
room was quite empty. The housemaid had removed the breakfast-things and
built up the fire. Martha had been told as a great secret that the
Vivians possessed an attic, where they kept their pets. She found the
attic, but it was empty. Even Dickie had forsaken it, and the different
caterpillars were all buried in their chrysalis state. Martha quickly
left the Vivians' attic. She wandered restlessly and miserably through
the lower school, and visited the room where she had slept, or tried to
sleep, the night before. Nowhere could she find them.

Meanwhile Sylvia and Hester had done a very bold deed. They were
reckless of school rules at a moment like the present. Their one and
only desire was to save Betty at any cost. They knew quite well that
Betty had hidden the packet, but where they could not tell. Betty had
said to them in her confident young voice, "The less you know the
better;" and they had trusted her, as they always would trust her as
long as they lived, for Betty, to them, meant all that was noble and
great and magnificent in the world.

It flashed now, however, through Sylvia's little brain that perhaps
B