night, in the hope that some sudden call might come, and at six o'clock
as Ussher had told Christine, he was ready for new efforts.

Rescued and rescuers reached the Usshers' house about half past ten the
following morning. Nancy was not yet downstairs. Wickham had not been
able to judge what was the correct note to strike in connection with the
whole incident, and so did not dare to sound any. The arrival was
comparatively simple. Mrs. Ussher received her beloved Christine with
open arms; Riatt went noncommittally upstairs to take a bath; Hickson had
decided, in spite of his depression of spirits, to try to make up a
little of last night's lost sleep, when he received a summons from his
sister. Her maid, a clever, sallow little Frenchwoman, came down with her
hands in her apron pockets to say that Madame should like to speak to
Monsieur at once.

He found Nancy still in bed; her little black head looking blacker than
usual against the lace of the pillows and the coverlet and of her own
bed-jacket. The only color about her was the yellow covered French
novel she laid down as he entered, and the one enormous ruby on her
fourth finger.

"And now, Ned, my dear," she said quite affectionately for her, "I hear
you have brought the wanderers safely home. Tell me all about it."

Hickson, to whom this summons had not come as a surprise, had resolved
that he would confide none of his anxieties to his sister but, alas, as
well might a pane of glass resolve to be opaque to a ray of sunlight.
Within ten minutes, Nancy knew not only all that he knew, but such
additional deductions as her sharper wits enabled her to draw.