going, and what
was the nature of the message which he bore. Some people were so
nervous about telegrams--Aunt Margaret, for instance! It was so rarely
that her quiet life was disturbed by a message of sufficient importance
to make it worth while for the sender to expend sixpence on its
delivery.

Sylvia's heart gave a leap of apprehension as the thought arose that
perhaps the message was for the O'Shaughnessy household to tell of some
dire accident which had interfered with the festivity of the evening.
She had hardly time to breathe a sigh of relief as the boy passed the
gate of Number Three before apprehension re-awoke as he approached her
own doorway.

A telegram for Aunt Margaret! What could it be? Ought she to go
downstairs to lend the support of her presence, or stay in her room
where she was supposed to be enjoying a refreshing nap? She heard the
opening of the door and the sound of voices in the hall, then to her
surprise footsteps ascended the stairs, and someone whispered a gentle
summons--

"Sylvia! Are you awake? A telegram has arrived for you, my dear. You
had better see it at once."

Miss Munns looked flurried and anxious, but her niece smiled a placid
reassurement.

"I expect it is from father, fixing the date of my journey. He said he
would wire." She tore open the envelope and glanced hurriedly at the
address. "Yes, it is! He is at Marseilles. `Come at--'" Her voice
died away, and she stood staring at the words in horrified incredulity,
while Miss Munns stepped forward hurriedly, and peered over her
shoulder.

"Come at once. Father dangerously ill. Remain in charge till you
come.--Nisbet."

"Nisbet! Nisbet! That was the name of the friends with whom he was to
travel. `Dangerously ill!' `At once!' What can it mean?"

Sylvia laid the paper on the bed and pressed her hands against her head.
She was deathly pale, but perfectly composed and quiet, and the
expression of her eyes showed that so far from being stunned, she was
thinking in quick, capable fashion.

"There is a train from Charing Cross at four o'clock," she said
presently. "I should arrive in Paris at midnight, and at Marseilles
some time to-morrow. It is three now. My box is more than half packed.
I shall have time. Mary must go out and order a cab!"

"My dear, it is impossible! You cannot possibly leave to-day. I will
go with you myself, and I cannot get ready at an hour's notice. Wait
until to-morrow,