s, in obedience to the modern magic of the telephone,
there came another signal and question and satisfactory proof of
identity, before the professor said sharply--

"Krakatoa. Come quick."

"Hah!" sighed the operator, as he closed the little cabinet; "now for
the old lady. Is the danger scotched or killed?"

He hurried down to the pantry, to find that the housekeeper had not
moved; and as soon as he reached her side, he took her in his arms,
while hers feebly clasped his neck.

"My poor old darling!" he whispered tenderly. "In much pain?"

"A good deal. My ankles are numbed. Is there any danger now?"

"Not for us, I think," he said grimly. "There, hold still, and I'll
carry you up to the library;" and lifting her from the table as easily
as if she had been a mere girl, he bore her up the stairs and laid her
upon a couch, kneeling afterwards by her side to chafe her ankles and
wrists in turn, while she told him all that he did not know.

"What will you do now?" she said anxiously at last.

"Go on chafing my poor old darling's ankles," he said quietly.

"No, no; you know what I mean--those two men."

"Did anyone see them come, dear?"

"Not that I am aware of," she replied.

"Humph!"

"Well, you do not speak."

"Why should I? It is not your business--not entirely mine. We must see
what they say."

"You have sent for them?"

"Of course; directly. It is a vital question."

"For us?"

"For them, I fear."

The old woman shuddered.

"Why that?" he said quietly. "Ought we to sympathise so much with
burglars who stand at nothing?"

"But it is so horrible," she whispered.

"It would be as horrible for us," he said sharply; "and we are of more
consequence than they."

"But surely they will not--"

"Kill them? Possibly. Something must be done to silence them. It is
their own doing, the scoundrels! We cannot go to the wall."

The old woman closed her eyes and sighed.

"God help us!" she said softly. "Harry, I am getting very weary of my
life now; it is so near the end."

"Hush!" said the professor, gently. "There are things which you ought
not to see or know. You are weak from the shock and injuries you have
received."

"But listen, dear."

"My dear old wifie," he said tenderly, "it is of no use to look in that
imploring way at me. You know what Jem is, and I am too old now to set
myself in antagonism with him. There, be at rest; I will do all I can.
Don't think me so bloodt