e for the night of
the outrageous perruque which covered them by day and which lay at the
moment hidden in its box.

A pair of crimson bed-slippers peeped from under the bed, another pair,
absurdly small, outrageously high-heeled, buckled and crimson, made a
splash of colour near the dressing-table. Her little hands were gently
folded under the ruffles of priceless lace of her cashmere night-attire
as she lay quite still, trying to find a way out through the jungle of
pain and grief which seemed to spread round and about so many she
loved; whilst Dekko, puffed out with sleepiness, sat on the back of a
chair, muttering incoherently to some fanciful image of his weird brain.

Hobson lay fast asleep in the next room, which had a communicating door
with that of her mistress. Knowing nothing of nerves or of
temperament, she had dropped asleep as soon as her head, with scanty
locks tortured into a _chevaux-de-frise_ of steel pins, had touched the
pillow; her strong hands were clenched on the frill of her stout calico
nightdress; her powerful face looked grim in the dim light of the moon,
which, high in the heavens, flung a silver shaft through the open
window straight across the bed. There was absolutely no sound when,
just as, so many miles away, Damaris made her passionate appeal, as she
stood by the window, Hobson, dour, stolid, unimaginative, yet with a
streak of Scotch blood in her veins, sat straight up in bed. Her eyes
were wide open as she stared in front of her, then she passed her
powerful hand over her grim face and flung the bedclothes to one side.

"She's in trouble." She spoke very clearly, sat for a moment thinking,
then reached for a puce dressing-gown trimmed mulberry. "I'll go and
tell her," and the infinite love in the pronoun was good to hear.
"She'll understand."

The duchess turned: her head as the door opened slowly, but made no
movement, although her heart suddenly quickened its beat.

"Yes?" she said quietly.

Hobson walked up to the bed and took one of the little old hands
between her own powerful ones.

"Miss Damaris wants you, ma'am." She spoke with certain conviction;
then added, "I've had a dream, ma'am. I saw nothing, but I heard Miss
Damaris calling you. It woke me up. '_Marraine_,' she said, 'I want
you.' That was all. And she does, ma'am."

She stood patting the hand of her mistress, who lay for a moment quite
still; then the faithful creature put a Shetland shawl round t