door, and noiselessly opened it a
chink.

Some one was coming down the corridor with the lightness of a cat,
candle in hand, as a faint light showed me. Another moment, and I saw
Charles, pale and haggard, still in evening-dress, coming towards me. He
was without his shoes. He passed my door and went noiselessly into his
own room, a little farther down the passage. There was the faintest
suspicion of a sound, as of a key being gently turned in the lock, and
then all was still again, stiller than ever.

What could Charles have been after? I wondered. He could not have been
returning from seeing Denis, who was not only much better, but was in
the room beyond his own. And why had he still got on his evening clothes
at four o'clock in the morning? I determined to ask him about it next
day, as I got back into bed again, and then, while wondering about it
and trying to get warm, I fell fast asleep. I was only roused, after
being twice called, to find that it was broad daylight, and to hear
being carried down the boxes of many of the guests who were leaving by
an early train.

I was late, but not so late as some. Breakfast was still going on.
Evelyn and Ralph had been up to see their friends off, but General and
Mrs. Marston and Carr, who was staying on, came in after I did. Lady
Mary and Aurelia were having breakfast in their own rooms. I think
nothing is more dreary than a long breakfast-table, laid for large
numbers, with half a dozen picnicking at it among the debris left by
earlier ravages. Evelyn, behind the great silver urn, looked pale and
preoccupied, and had very little to say for herself when I journeyed up
to her end of the table and sat down by her. She asked me twice if I
took sugar, and was not bright and alert and ready in conversation, as I
think girls should be. Carr, too, was eating his breakfast in silence
beside Mrs. Marston.

It was not cheerful. And then Charles came in, listless and tired, and
without an appetite. He sat down wearily on the other side of Evelyn,
and watched her pour out his coffee without a word.

"The Carews and Edmonts and Lady Delmour and her daughter have just
gone," said Evelyn, "and Mr. Denis."

"Yes," replied Charles, seeming to pull himself together; "Denis came to
my room before he went. He looked a wreck, poor fellow; but not worse
than some of us. These late hours, these friskings with energetic young
creatures in the school-room, these midnight revels, are too much fo