the hall the soonest minute ye can, as she has
somethin' very sarious to say to ye."

"Step over to the hall?" I exclaimed. "Do
you know what o'clock it is, Pat?"

"Oh yis, miss!" said Pat; "it's three
o'clock, an' the sun low, but niver fear; I'll walk
behind ye ivery step o' the way, an' if as much
as a hare winks at ye, he'll rue the day. Mrs.
Beatty would ha' come over here to spake to
ye, only for fear o' hersel' at the farm," said
Pat, jerking his thumb in the direction of the
house. "God keep sorrow from her door; but
I'm feared there's throuble in the wind!"

I did not quite understand whether the
threatened trouble was for Mrs. Beatty or Mrs.
Hollingford. I guessed the latter, and thought
immediately of the absent husband and father.
I felt that I could not do better than obey the
summons. Pat promised to wait for me at the
gate, and I hastened into the house to prepare
for my journey.

"I am going for a walk, Jane," I said, looking
in at the school-room door. "Don't be
surprised if I am not in before dark."

"But, Margery!" I heard her beginning, and
did not wait to hear any more.

How I racked my brains during that walk to
try and guess the cause of my sudden summons.
The only tiling I could think of was that Mr.
Hollingford was in prison. I never fancied
anything approaching to the truth.

Mrs. Beatty was anxiously watching at the
door for my arrival. She had tea waiting for
me, and began pulling off my bonnet and boots
at her fireside. But her hands were shaking,
and her eyes red and watering.

"Never mind me, Mrs. Beatty," I said,
imploringly; "tell me what is the matter."

"Take a sup of tea first, my dear young lady,"
said she; "ill news is heard soon enough."

"I won't taste it," I said, pushing it away.
"Tell me this instant!" I said, as a dim fear of
the truth came across my brain.

"Well, my dear," she said, beginning to cry
outright, "you see there has been a terrible
smash of the coach from London. The horses
fell crossing a bridge, and the coach was
overturned into the river; and they do say every
body was killed or drowned. And poor young
Mr. Hollingford was in the coach; and, oh!
that I should have to say it, he's met a cruel
death. I sent for you, dear young lady, that
you might break the news gently to his
mother; for there's not a soul in the country
side dare carry the story to her door, and they'll
maybe be bringing home the bodies."

"Stop!" said I. "Mrs. Beatty—are you
sure——"

And the next thing I knew was a sensation
of coldness and wetness upon my face, and a
smell of vinegar and wine, and a sound of
murmuring and crying.

"Dear heart, dear heart! to think of her
taking on so!" I heard the good woman saying,
and I crept to my feet, and began tying on my
bonnet in spite of her entreaties that I would
lie still.

"No, no, I must get home!" I said, shuddering.
"Some one else will come and tell her,
and it will kill her. Let me go at once! Let
me go!"

At the door in the frosty dusk Pat was waiting
with a horse and gig.

"I was thinkin' ye'd be a bit staggered by
the news, miss," he said, "an' I put the mare
to this ould shandheradan. It's not very fit
for a lady, bad manners to it! but it'll be
bether nor the slippery roads undher yer feet."

I do not know how the drive passed.
I remember saying once to Pat,

"Are they quite, quite sure that Mr. Hollingford
was—was——"

"No indeed, miss," was the answer, "sorra
sure at all. They do say he was in the coach,
but no wan seen him dead, as far as I can hear
tell."

I made the man set me down at the farm.
gate, and walked up the avenue just as the
early moonlight was beginning to light up the
frosty world. As I came near the door, I
fancied I heard crying and wailing; but it was
only Mopsie singing in the hall. Behind the
parlour window I saw Jane stepping about
briskly in the firelight, arranging the table for
tea. All was quiet and peaceful as when I had
left the place two hours before.

CHAPTER V

The children followed me to my room,
wondering where I could have been so late. I
said I was tired, and begged them to leave me
alone. Then I locked my door, and a solitary
hour of anguish passed. The fever of
uncertainty would not let me weep; I suffered
without much sign, but in such a degree as I
had never dreamed of before.

There was something so horrible that I had
to realise and could not. John killed, cut away
from all reach of our loving and helping. John
hurt and dying away from his home, without
one by to comfort him, without his mother's
blessing, without a whisper to tell him that I
had loved him and would mourn for him all my
life! John vanished from the earth: lost to us
for ever! Never to see him again till my eyes
were worn dim, and my hair white; and then
perhaps to be as far from him as ever! The
sickly moonlight fell about me with a ghastly
peace, and the horror of death froze at my heart.

Tea-hour arrived, and the girls came and
knocked at the door. I said my head ached,
would they bring me some tea to my bedside?
and they went again, and I could groan aloud
without fear of being heard. Then Mrs. Hollingford
came to me, questioning me anxiously, and
pressing my burning temples between her cool
soft palms; and there I lay under her hands,
crushed with my cruel secret. I could not tell it.
Not that night. When the worst must be known
it would be my place to help them all in their
agony; and was I fit for such a task now?
Besides, there was still a hope, and I clung to
it with wild energy.

I pretended to sleep, and heard soft steps
about the room, and quiet whispers, and I
knew that three loving spirits were watching