somebody in the house?" she cried.

The men got up and turned about. There was dead silence in a moment.

"When?"

"Now."

"No. What body?"

She flew off without waiting to explain. The kitchen was too far away.
Hugh Ritson's room opened from the first landing of the stairs. The
stairs went up almost from the porch. Darting up, she threw open the
door of Hugh's room. Hugh was sitting at the table, examining papers by
a lamp.

"Have you seen Paul?" she cried, in an agonized whisper, and with a
panic-stricken look.

Hugh dropped the papers and rose stiffly to his feet.

"Great God! Where?"

"Here--this moment!"

Their eyes met. He did not answer. He was very pale. Had she dreamed?
She looked down at the snow-crusted lantern in her hand. It must have
been all a dream.

She stepped back on to the landing, and stood in silence. The serving
people had come out of the kitchen, and, huddled together, they looked
at her in amazement. Then a low moan reached her ear. She ran to Mrs.
Ritson's room. The door to it stood wide open; a fire burned in the
grate, a candle on the table.

Outstretched on the floor lay the mother of Paul, cold, still, and
insensible.

When Mrs. Ritson regained consciousness she looked about with the empty
gaze of one who is bending bewildered eyes on vacancy. Greta was
kneeling beside her, and she helped to lift her into the bed. Mrs.
Ritson did not speak, but she grasped Greta's hand with a nervous
twitch, when the girl whispered something in her ear. From time to time
she trembled visibly, and glanced with a startled look toward the door.
But not a word did she utter.

Thus hour after hour wore on, and the night was growing apace. A painful
silence brooded over the house. Only in the kitchen was any voice raised
above a whisper. There the servants quaked and clucked--every tongue
among them let loose in conjecture and the accents of surprise.

Hugh Ritson passed again and again from his own room to his mother's. He
looked down from time to time at the weary, pale, and quiet face. But he
said little. He put no questions.

Greta sat beside the bed, only less weary, only less pale and quiet,
only less disturbed by horrible imaginings than the sufferer who lay
upon it. Toward midnight Hugh came to say that Peter had been sent for
her from the vicarage. Greta rose, put on her cloak and hat, kissed the
silent lips, and followed Hugh out of the room.

As they passed down the stairs Greta