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"What is it, sir?" he asked, saluting Jen even in that moment of anxiety. "I heard an awful cry, sir, and came arter you." When Patricia came home from the library at half-past five, she was surprised to find Elinor stretched on the couch, with a thick comfortable drawn up to her chin, and her face gray and haggard. "None at all. But the wind and rain were wild outside, so that they may have drowned the noise made by those who broke in.".

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Elinor, who had lifted her eyes perfunctorily, gave real attention. That dinner was going like an airship on a high wind, when something happened to tangle its tail feathers, and I can hardly write it for trembling yet. It was a simple little telegram, but it might have been nitro-glycerine on a tear for the way it acted. It was for me, but the nephew handed it to Tom, and he opened it and, looking at me, he solemnly read it out loud. It said— "It's a long story," returned Maurice, lighting a fresh cigar. "Look here, Uncle Jen, I went to dress at half-past six; you did also. When we left the devil-stick was in the room on the wall. Now we are here again at half-past eight, the devil-stick is gone. In these two hours Dido has had time to cross the lawn yonder and steal it." "This is what I call luck," she said, genially. "I'm going to steer you two peaches right into the thick of the tumult, and if you don't have the time of your sad young lives, my name's not—well, here, you'd better pronounce it for me," and she handed out a card on which was printed in clear black letters,.