thickens; the impropriety deepens. It grows
more interesting at every word."

"The 'somebody,' whoever it was, opened the door, looked in,--fortunately
without a light, or we might have been discovered,--and----"

"You fainted, of course?" says Cecil, who is consumed with laughter.

"No, indeed," answers Molly; "I neither fainted nor screamed."

"Tut! nonsense. I think nothing of you. Such a golden opportunity
thrown away! In your place I should have been senseless in half a
minute in Tedcastle's arms."

"Forgive my stupidity. I only turned and caught hold of Teddy's arm,
and held him as though I never meant to let him go."

"Perhaps that was your secret wish, were the truth known. Molly, you
are wiser than I am. What is a paltry fainting fit to the touch of a
soft, warm hand? Go on."

"Well, the invader, when he had gazed into space, withdrew again,
leaving us to our own devices. Cecil, if we had been discovered! I in
my dressing-gown! Not all the waters of the Atlantic would have saved
me from censure. I never was so terrified. Who _could_ it have
been?"

"'Oh! 'twas I, love;
Wandering by, love,'"

declares Cecil, going off into a perfect peal of laughter. "Never,
never have I been so entertained! And so I frightened you? Well, be
comforted. I was terrified in my turn by your long absence; so much so
that, without a candle, I crept down-stairs, stole along the hall, and
looked into the drawing-room. Seeing no one, I retreated, and gained my
own room again as fast as I could. Oh, how sorry I am I did not know!
Consider your feelings had I stolen quietly toward your hiding-place
step by step! A splendid situation absolutely thrown away."

"You and Mr. Potts ought to be brother and sister, you both revel so in
the bare idea of mischief," says Molly, laughing too.

And then Cecil, declaring it is all hours, turns her out of her room,
and presently sleep falls and settles upon Herst and all its inmates.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"Death is here, and death is there;
Death is busy everywhere;
All around, within, beneath,
Above is death,--and we are death.

* * *

Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,
Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight
No more, O never more."

--Shelley.

It is just two o'clock, and Sunday. They have all been to church. They
have struggled manfully through their prayers. They have chanted a
depressing psalm or tw