As it was, Lady Lavander patted her approvingly, said she loved to see
young people modest and humble-minded, and gave her a slice of very
highly-spiced, rather musty gingerbread, which Griselda couldn't bear.

All the way home Griselda felt in a fever of impatience to rush up to
the ante-room and see if the cuckoo was all right again. It was late and
dark when the chariot at last stopped at the door of the old house. Miss
Grizzel got out slowly, and still more slowly Miss Tabitha followed
her. Griselda was obliged to restrain herself and move demurely.

"It is past your supper-time, my dear," said Miss Grizzel. "Go up at
once to your room, and Dorcas shall bring some supper to you. Late hours
are bad for young people."

Griselda obediently wished her aunts good-night, and went quietly
upstairs. But once out of sight, at the first landing, she changed her
pace. She turned to the left instead of to the right, which led to her
own room, and flew rather than ran along the dimly-lighted passage, at
the end of which a door led into the great saloon. She opened the door.
All was quite dark. It was impossible to fly or run across the great
saloon! Even in daylight this would have been a difficult matter.
Griselda _felt_ her way as best she could, past the Chinese cabinet and
the pot-pourri jar, till she got to the ante-room door. It was open, and
now, knowing her way better, she hurried in. But what was the use? All
was silent, save the tick-tick of the cuckoo clock in the corner. Oh, if
_only_ the cuckoo would come out and call the hour as usual, what a
weight would be lifted off Griselda's heart!

She had no idea what o'clock it was. It might be close to the hour, or
it might be just past it. She stood listening for a few minutes, then