e one is certain to break in." The two rushed across
the hall. Candace heard their rapid steps on the stairs; then Georgie's
door shut with a bang, and all was still.

Her book dropped into her lap unheeded. Her mind was full of puzzled
amazement. Who was the "dreadful creature," and what _did_ it all mean?

The silence in the house was unbroken except by the tick-tick of the
tall clock. It made her nervous at last, and she went out on the lawn to
get rid of the sensation. She picked a few flowers, pulled the seed-pods
from one of the geraniums under her care, and spent some minutes in
petting and fondling Marian's pretty colly, who lay stretched out
luxuriously in the full rays of the mild September sunshine. Then she
caught a glimpse of Berry's figure passing out of the gate, and went
back to the house. The drawing-room was empty. Motley lay on the floor
where she had dropped him. She picked up the volume, and slowly mounted
the stairs. As she passed through the upper entry she heard a sound from
the morning-room; was it a sob? Candace gently approached the door.
Again the sound came, an unmistakable sob; and looking in she saw
Georgie, lying on her mother's sofa with her face hidden, sobbing as if
her heart would break, and saying over and over to herself in a voice
which was like a moan, "What shall I do? oh, what shall I do?"

CHAPTER X.

A WORD FITLY SPOKEN.

ALL Candace's timidity fled at the sight of Georgie's distress. She
hurried across the room, knelt down by the sofa, and took her cousin's
hand, which was as cold as a stone, between her own warm ones.

"What is it, Georgie? Don't cry so, Georgie, dear, please don't! Oh,
what is the matter?" she said, in a voice so soft and affectionate and
pleading, that it made its way straight to poor miserable Georgie's
heart. She still sobbed; she still hid her face in the pillow; but she
let Cannie hold her hand and stroke and kiss it, and seemed to find a
little soothing in the kind touch and the tender words.

After a while the sobs grew fainter, and Georgie lay half exhausted,
with her eyes shut, only now and then giving Cannie's hand a squeeze.
Hers was one of those natures which cannot bear to suffer alone.
Whatever was the matter, Georgie instinctively reached out for sympathy
to the nearest source from which it could be had. Gertrude, her natural
confidante, was away; and Candace, her sweet face full of pity and
concern, was close at hand. Her touc