r rush past her, tottering, trembling, until he reaches
his own room, where he disappears.

Almost at the same instant the others who have been in the
drawing-room, drawn to the spot by the delicate machinations of Mr.
Potts, come on the scene; while Marcia, who has heard that scared cry,
emerges quickly from among them and passes up the stairs into her
grandfather's room.

There follows an awkward silence. Cecil, who has been adorning a corner
farther on, comes creeping toward them, pale and nervous, having also
been a witness to Mr. Amherst's hurried flight; and she and Molly, in
their masquerading costumes, feel, to say the least of it, rather
small.

They cast a withering glance at Potts, who has grown a lively purple;
but he only shakes his head, having no explanation to offer, and
knowing himself for once in his life to be unequal to the occasion.

Mrs. Darley is the first to break silence.

"What is it? What has happened? Why are you both here in your
night-dresses?" she asks, unguardedly, losing her head in the
excitement of the moment.

"What do you mean?" says Cecil, angrily. "'Nightdresses'! If you don't
know dressing-gowns when you see them, I am sorry for you. Plantagenet,
what has happened?"

"It was grandpapa," says Molly, in a frightened tone. "He came by, and
I think was upset by my--appearance. Oh, I hope I have not done him any
harm! Mr. Potts, _why_ did you make me do it?"

"How could I tell?" replies Potts, who is as white as their costumes.
"What an awful shriek he gave! I thought such a stern old card as he is
would have had more pluck!"

"I was positive he was in bed," says Cecil, "or I should never have
ventured."

"He is never where he ought to be," mutters Potts gloomily.

Here conversation fails them. For once they are honestly dismayed, and
keep their eyes fixed in anxious expectation on the bedchamber of their
host. Will Marcia _never_ come?

At length the door opens and she appears, looking pale and
_distraite_. Her eyes light angrily as they fall on Molly.

"Grandpapa is very much upset. He is ill. It was heartless,--a cruel
trick," she says, rather incoherently. "He wishes to see you, Eleanor,
instantly. You had better go to him."

"Must I?" asks Molly, who is quite colorless, and much inclined to cry.

"Unless you wish to add disobedience to your other unfeeling conduct,"
replies Marcia, coldly.

"No, no; of course not. I will go," says Molly, nervously.

With fal