r door. She may be ill," answered the General, "and, in
the meantime, inquire after Mrs. Harrington, with my compliments."

Ralph grew crimson to the temples. A hundred times before, he had
summoned Lina from her slumbers, but now it seemed like presumption.

It was strange, but James Harrington had not inquired after either of
the ladies; but he looked up with an eager flash of the eyes when the
General gave his message; and, as Ralph hesitated, he said in a grave
voice--

"What are you waiting for, Ralph? There is something strange in Lina's
absence."

"Is there? Do you think so?" exclaimed the excitable boy, and the
crimson came and went in flashes over his face. "Oh, brother James, do
you think so?"

The General lowered his cup to the table, and began tinkling the spoon
against its side, softly, but in a way which bespoke a world of
impatience. Ralph understood the signal, and disappeared.

"Upon my word, I'd rather be shot," thought Ralph, pausing before the
door he had knocked at heedlessly a thousand times during his boyish
life; "I wonder what she'll think of it, so coarse and rude to present
myself in this fashion after her first sweet sleep. Dear, dear Lina."

He reached forth his hand timidly, and with a pleasant tremble in all
the nerves, drew it back, attempted again, and ended with one of the
faintest possible taps against the black walnut panelling.

No answer came. The knock was repeated, louder and louder, still no
answer. But at last the door was suddenly opened, and while Ralph stood
in breathless expectation, he saw a mulatto chambermaid before him,
beating a pillow with one hand, from which two or three feathers had
broken loose, and stood quivering in her braided wool.

"Oh, it's you, is it, Master Ralph? Thought, mebbe, it was Miss Lina
a-coming back agin. Everything sixes and sevens, I can tell you, since
Miss Mabel took sick--now I tell you."

"Can you tell me where Miss Lina is?"

"Don't know nothin' 'bout her, no how--cum in here a little while ago,
and didn't speak a word when I said 'Good mornin',' as pleasant as could
be--but jist turned her head away and went off, as if I'd been the dirt
under her feet."

With these words the exasperated damsel punched her right hand
ferociously into the pillow, as if that had been in fault, and added
half a dozen more feathers to those already encamped in her dingy
tresses.

Ralph was troubled. What could this mean? Lina was never ill-temp