replied to Mrs
Clay by saying in a soothing tone, 'Yes, ma'am, yes; the danger's quite
over, if there ever was any. There's not a soul inside these park-gates
except those that have a right to be; and, after all, the master can
afford a little loss like this afternoon.'

Mrs Clay gave a little sigh, and said, 'I think, my dear, I'll lie down a
bit, if you'll stop by me. I don't fancy bein' alone.'

And Horatia willingly went with her hostess.

CHAPTER XVIII.

NANCY PACKS UP.

Poor Mrs Clay lay down on the sofa in the drawing-room and shut her eyes.
Horatia sat beside her, kicking the corner of one of the rich Persian
rugs that lay about the drawing-room; not that she was in a bad
temper--indeed, Horatia was rarely in a bad temper--but as an outlet to
her superfluous energy.

It was pain and grief to Horatia Cunningham to sit still at any time; but
this afternoon, when she felt so excited and wanted to hear all about the
fire, it was a severe trial to her patience.

Mrs Clay was evidently worn out by the events of the day. Horatia glanced
at her from time to time, but did not like to break the silence. Great
was her relief, therefore, when a knock came at the drawing-room door.

Mrs Clay opened her eyes. 'Who can that be?' she demanded, clutching
Horatia's arm in her nervousness.

'Only one of the servants, I expect,' replied Horatia, looking towards
the door, in the hope that it would be some one with news of some sort.

'But they never knock at the drawing-room door,' objected Mrs Clay.

'Hadn't you better tell them to come in?' suggested Horatia, for Mrs Clay
lay there, clutching her hand and talking in whispers, but not giving any
answer to the person at the door.

'Oh no, my dear. I--we don't know who it is,' gasped the poor thing, who
was evidently quite unnerved, and no wonder.

'Shall I go and see who it is? I dare say it is one of the servants, who
did not like to come in and disturb you, because they know you are
resting,' said Horatia.

'I think you'd better ring for Sykes,' objected Mrs Clay, still keeping
her hold of Horatia.

'I'm sure it's only a servant, perhaps Sykes himself. I'll only open the
door a little bit,' said Horatia, loosening her hand from Mrs Clay's and
running to the door, which she opened, as she promised, only a little
bit, and then exclaimed, 'Nanny! it's you, is it? What's the matter?' For
it was against all etiquette for Mrs Nancy to come down to this part of