u
said Kingsand? Do you happen to know where Kingsand is? In what
county, for instance?"

But Tilda had begun to scent danger again, she hardly knew why, and
contented herself with shaking her head.

"Someone wants to see him. Who?"

"She's--an invalid," Tilda admitted.

"Not your aunt?"

"She's a--a _friend_ of my aunt's."

Doctor Glasson pulled out a watch and compared it with the clock on the
mantelshelf. While he did so Tilda stole a look up at his face, and
more than ever it seemed to her to resemble a double trap--its slit of a
mouth constructed to swallow anything that escaped between nose and
chin.

"Your aunt is far from punctual. You are sure she means to call?"

"Sure," answered Tilda still hardily. "'Twelve-thirty' was her last
words when she left me at the doctor's--my 'ip bein' 'urt, sir, through
tumblin' out of a nomnibus, three weeks ago. But you never can depend
on 'er to a few minutes up 'an down. She gets into the streets,
watchin' the fashions, an' that carries 'er away. P'r'aps, sir, I 'd
better go back into the street and 'ave a look for her."

"I think you had better wait here for her," said Doctor Glasson,
shutting his lips with a snap. "There are some picture-books in the
drawing-room."

He led the way. The drawing-room lay at the back of the house--an
apartment even more profoundly depressing than the one she had left.
Its one important piece of furniture was a circular table of rosewood
standing in the centre of the carpet under a brass gaselier, of which
the burnish had perished in patches; and in the centre of the table
stood a round-topped glass case containing a stuffed kestrel, with a
stuffed lark prostrate under its talons and bleeding vermilion wax.
Around this ornament were disposed, as the Doctor had promised, a number
of albums and illustrated books, one of which he chose and placed it in
her hands, at the same time bringing forward one of a suite of rosewood
chairs ranged with their backs to the walls. He motioned her to be
seated.

"You shall be told as soon as ever your aunt arrives."

"Yes, sir," said Tilda feebly. For the moment all the fight had gone
out of her.

He stood eyeing her, pulling at his bony finger-joints, and seemed on
the point of putting some further question, but turned abruptly and left
the room.

As the door closed--thank Heaven, at least, he did not bolt this one
also!--a dry sob escaped the child. Why had she told that strin