eonora felt guilty
because she had been unwittingly absorbed in the gaiety of the opera
while Aunt Hannah was in such danger.

'I doubt I munna' tap that again,' Meshach remarked with a short dry
plaintive laugh, pointing to the pewter platter on the mantelpiece by
means of which he was accustomed to summon his sister when he wanted
her.

The visitors looked at each other; Leonora's eyes were moist.

'But isn't there anything I can do, uncle?' she demanded.

'I'll see if her's asleep. Sit thee still,' said Meshach, and he crept
out of the room, and up the creaking stair.

'Poor old fellow!' Twemlow murmured, glancing at his watch.

'What time is it?' she asked, for the sake of saying something. 'It's no
use me staying.'

'Five to eleven. If I run off at once I can catch the last train.
Good-night. Tell Mr. Myatt, will you?'

She took his hand with a feeling of intimacy.

It seemed to her that they had shared many emotions that night.

'I'll let you out,' she suggested, and in the obscurity of the narrow
lobby they came into contact and shook hands again; she could not at
first find the upper latch of the door.

'I shall be seeing you all soon,' he said in a low voice, on the step.
She nodded and closed the door softly.

She thought how simple, agreeable, reliable, honest, good-natured, and
sympathetic he was.

'Her's sleeping like a babby,' Meshach stated, returning to the parlour.
He lighted his pipe, and through the smoke looked at Leonora in her dark
magnificent dress.

Then John arrived, pompous and elaborately calm; but he had driven
Prince to Hillport and back in twenty-five minutes. John listened to the
recital of events.

'You're sure there's no danger now?' He could disguise neither his
present relief nor his fear for the future.

'Thou'rt all right yet, nephew,' said Meshach with an ironic inflection,
as he gazed into the dying fire. 'Her may live another ten year. And I
might flit to-morrow. Thou'rt too anxious, my lad. Keep it down.'

John, deeply offended, made no reply.

'Why shouldn't I be anxious?' he exclaimed angrily as they drove home.
'Whose fault is it if I am? Does he expect me not to be?'

CHAPTER VII

THE DEPARTURE

As I approach the crisis in Leonora's life, I hesitate, fearing lest by
an unfit phrase I should deprive her of your sympathies, and fearing
also that this fear may incline me to set down less than the truth about
her.

She was possessed by a myst