ign with her hand: "Not yet, please."

The cloth was laid, but some books and papers had been pushed to one end
of the table. Judith went to them and lifted them carefully, as if she
were looking for something. Then she went to the little side-table, then
to the chimney-piece, still seeking, while Thorne stood by the window
silently waiting.

The search was evidently unavailing, and Judith rang the bell. During the
pause which ensued she rested her elbow on the back of Bertie's easy-chair
and covered her eyes with her hand. She was shaking from head to foot, but
when the door opened she stood up and tried to speak in her usual voice:
"Are there any letters by the second post for me, Emma?"

The little maid looked wonderingly at Mr. Thorne and then at Miss Lisle:
"No, ma'am: I always bring 'em up."

"I know you do, but I thought they might have been forgotten. Will you ask
Miss Bryant if she is quite sure none came for me this morning?"

There was another silence while Emma went on her errand. She came back
with Miss Bryant's compliments, and no letters had come for Miss Lisle.

"Thank you," said Judith. "That will do. I will ring when I want dinner
brought in."

When they were left alone Percival stepped forward. "What is it?" he
said. "You will tell me now."

She answered with averted eyes: "You know that our school broke up
yesterday? Emmeline Nash went away by the nine-o'clock train, but she has
never gone home."

"Has never gone home!" Percival repeated. "That is very strange. She must
have met with some accident." There was no answer. "It may not be anything
serious: surely, you are distressing yourself too much."

Judith looked up into his face with questioning eyes.

"Or perhaps it is some school-girl freak," Thorne went on. "Naturally,
Miss Crawford must be very anxious, but don't make up your mind to the
worst till you know for certain."

Still that anxious questioning look, as if she would read his very soul.
Percival was startled and perplexed, and his eyes made no response. The
girl turned away with a faint cry of impatience and despair: "And I am his
own sister!"

Percival stood for a moment thunder-struck. Then "Bertie?" he said.

"But you did not think of him till I spoke," she answered passionately.
"It was my doing--mine!"

"Where is Bertie?" Thorne asked the question with something of her fear in
his eyes.

"I don't know. I had that yesterday morning."

He took a pencilled scrap of