Dymock came in. Grandmamma
raised her face quickly, with a look of expectation--the door never
opened in those sad days without her heart beating faster with the hope
of possible tidings--but it as quickly faded again. Dymock had just the
same melancholy expression; he still walked on tiptoe, and spoke in a
muffled voice, as if he were entering a sick-room. This was his way of
showing his sympathy, which really was most deep and sincere But somehow
it provoked Grandmamma, who was, it must be confessed, _rather_ a
quick-tempered old lady at all times, and at present her nerves were of
course unusually irritated.

"Well, what is it, Dymock?" she said testily. "I wish you would not go
about like a mute at a funeral. You make me think I don't know what."

"Beg pardon, ma'am, I'm sure," said Dymock humbly, but still in the same
subdued way. He would not have taken offence just now at any remark of
Grandmamma's; but he could not help speaking to her with a sort of
respectful indulgence, as much as to say, "I know she can't help it,
poor old lady," which Grandmamma found exceedingly aggravating. "Beg
pardon. But it's Mrs. Twiss. If she could see you for a moment, ma'am?"

"Old Barbara!" exclaimed Grandmamma. "Is it possible that she--she is so
shrewd and sensible--can she have heard anything do you think, Dymock?"

But Dymock shook his head solemnly.

"No, no, ma'am. It's not that. I'm very sorry if by my manner I raised
any false hopes."

"That you certainly did not, my good Dymock," said the old lady grimly.

"But--would you see Mrs. Twiss, ma'am? She's going from home I believe."

"Going from home--she who never leaves her own cottage! Yes, I will see
her," and in another moment the neat old woman was making her curtsey at
the door.

"Come in, come in, Barbara," said Grandmamma. "And so you are off
somewhere? How is that? Ah, if I were as strong and well as you, I think
I would be tempted to set off on my travels to look for my lost
darlings. It is the staying here waiting and doing nothing that is so
dreadful, my good friend."

And Grandmamma's voice quavered with the last words. It was not the
first time she had seen Barbara since the children's disappearance, for
they were old friends, and the cake woman had hurried up to Arbitt Lodge
at once on hearing of the sad trouble that had befallen its inmates, to
express her concern and see if maybe she could be of any use.

"Yes, indeed, ma'am. I can well understa