on a message to William Leigh, who, she felt, ought to be informed of his
mother's whereabouts, and of the whole state of affairs. She asked her
messenger to tell him to come and speak to her; that his mother was at
her house. She was thankful that her father sauntered out to have a
gossip at the nearest coach-stand, and to relate as many of the night's
adventures as he knew; for as yet he was in ignorance of the watcher and
the watched, who silently passed away the hours upstairs.

At dinner-time Will came. He looked red, glad, impatient, excited. Susan
stood calm and white before him, her soft, loving eyes gazing straight
into his.

"Will," said she, in a low, quiet voice, "your sister is upstairs."

"My sister!" said he, as if affrighted at the idea, and losing his glad
look in one of gloom. Susan saw it, and her heart sank a little, but she
went on as calm to all appearance as ever.

"She was little Nanny's mother, as perhaps you know. Poor little Nanny
was killed last night by a fall downstairs." All the calmness was gone;
all the suppressed feeling was displayed in spite of every effort. She
sat down, and hid her face from him, and cried bitterly. He forgot
everything but the wish, the longing to comfort her. He put his arm
round her waist, and bent over her. But all he could say, was, "Oh,
Susan, how can I comfort you? Don't take on so--pray don't!" He never
changed the words, but the tone varied every time he spoke. At last she
seemed to regain her power over herself; and she wiped her eyes, and once
more looked upon him with her own quiet, earnest, unfearing gaze.

"Your sister was near the house. She came in on hearing my words to the