accustomed places.

"And here is another letter for you, my dear," said Aunt Jane. "I hope
the other brought good news?"

Claudia blushed a healthy, honest, old-fashioned blush. She had
forgotten that letter. Its opening page or so had alone been glanced
at.

Aunt Jane looked astonished at the confession, but with her placid
good-nature added: "Of course, my dear, it was the little excitement of
this evening."

"So natural to young heads," said Aunt Ruth, with a shake of her curls.

But Claudia was ashamed of herself, and ran upstairs for the first
letter.

[Sidenote: Startling News]

A hasty glance showed her that, whilst it began in ordinary gossip, the
long postscript dealt with a more serious subject. Mr. Haberton was ill;
he had driven home late at night from a distance, and had taken a chill.
Mrs. Haberton hoped it would pass off; Claudia was not to feel alarmed;
Pinsett had again proved herself invaluable, and between them they could
nurse the patient comfortably.

Claudia hastened to the second letter. Her fears were justified. Her
father was worse; pneumonia had set in; the doctor was anxious; they
were trying to secure a trained nurse; perhaps Claudia would like to
return as soon as she got the letter.

"When did this come?" asked Claudia eagerly.

"A very few moments after you left," said Aunt Jane. "Of course, if you
had been here, you might just have caught the eight o'clock train--very
late, my dear, for you to go by, but with your father so ill----" And
Aunt Jane wiped a tear away.

Claudia also wept.

"Can nothing be done to-night?" she presently cried. "_Must_ I wait till
to-morrow? He may be----" But she did not like to finish the sentence.

Aunt Ruth had risen to the occasion; she was already adjusting her
spectacles with trembling hands in order to explore the _A B C
Timetable_. A very brief examination of the book showed that Claudia
could not get home that night. They could only wait until morning.

Claudia spent a sleepless night. She had come up to London to find a
mission in life. The first great sorrow had fallen upon her home in her
absence, and by an inexcusable preoccupation she had perhaps made it
impossible to reach home before her father's death.

She knew that pneumonia often claimed its victims swiftly; she might
reach home too late.

Her father had been good to her in his own rather stern way. He was not
a small, weak, or peevish character. To have helped him in si