he will have to come, my dear lady; and for the sake of
appearances----"

"Not yet. Oh, not yet."

("Aye, it will be a bitter pill to you, poor thing, and to all of you,
to have to bundle out neck and crop," inwardly cogitated the
doctor)--and as he hesitated what further counsel to offer, she made her
own suggestion.

"Paul would come to us, I know. He only left this morning. Oh, how
little we thought when he left--but Maud knows where he is."

"Let him be sent for, then. The telegraph-office will be shut, but I
daresay I could get them to open it if I went myself. Is Major Foster in
London? If he is in the country, we shall have to wait till morning, I
doubt."

Maud however testified that Paul was in London, and the telegram was
sent.

And next day ensued a scene familiar, alas! to many. Scared looks,
noiseless footsteps, muffled whispers--strangeness, dreariness,
everywhere. And there were questions that could not be asked, and
anxious thoughts that must not appear,--and with the future knocking at
the door, the present must be all-in-all.

The present, however, with its multifarious demands, brought the relief
of occupation to every member of the family except Leonore.

She was indeed willing, more than willing to do her part; but the elder
three had been so long habituated to thinking of her as a childish,
inconsequent creature, not yet out of leading strings, that each
severally rejected her overtures, and she could only wander aimlessly
from room to room, and gaze from the windows--from one window in
particular.

"You will catch cold, Leo, if you stand in that draught," said Maud,
passing along the corridor, where a chill current of air made itself
felt. "Go into the library, child; a good fire is wasting itself upon
nobody there."

But Leo did not go into the library. The library was snug and
comfortable--the most comfortable room in the house,--but it commanded
no view. The high trees of the shrubbery shut out the park beyond; and
the short, straight road to the village, the road by which every one was
coming and going now, was also entirely hidden.

When Maud reappeared, the watcher was still at her post,--but as she was
in the act of putting down the open window--(perhaps she had heard an
approaching step?)--remonstrance was not renewed. Instead, Maud came and
looked herself.

"It is very strange of Paul;" she mused aloud.

No word from Paul had yet come, and now we can guess why Leo stood