to create no uneasiness at the breakfast-table, determined to go
down again. But he was too late, for his daughter had already
suspected something. She was not anxious but puzzled that her
husband tarried. She came up the stairs with a letter.

"I'm going to find Tom," she said. "It's not like him to be so
lazy. Here's a letter from the ship, and I'm awfully afraid he
may have to go back."

"Mary," said her father, "come here a moment."

He drew her under a great window which threw light into the
corridor.

"You must summon your nerve and pluck, my girl! I'm very much
afraid that something has gone amiss with Tom. I know nothing yet,
but last night, it seems, after we had gone to bed, he and Henry
determined that one of them should sleep in the Grey Room."

"Father! Was he there, and I so near him--sleeping in the very
next room?"

"He was there--and is there. He is not well. Henry saw him
looking out of the window five minutes ago, but he was, I fear,
unconscious."

"Let me go to him," she said.

"I will do so first. It will be wiser. Run down and ask Ernest
to join me. Do not be alarmed; I dare say it is nothing at all."