"But where should she go?" asked Bea with a strange uneasiness.

"Anywhere, just so people see her new things, and say how pretty she looks," answered Kat, who was not uneasy.

So they eat supper and waited; but no appearance of the delinquent. The twins began to clear up, putting a good supply in the oven to keep warm; but the dishes were through with, and all put away, and no Ernestine.

Kittie began to feel anxious and worried, but Kat made fun of her, though she herself began to grow more quiet, as the evening went on.

Eight. Nine. No Ernestine. What should they do?

Bea sprang up from her seat at the window, all in a pale tremor.

"I cannot stand it. Oh, Olive, what shall we do?"

"Why, I don't know," said Olive, putting down the book in which she had read nothing. "Have you looked for her hat and cloak?"

No. No one had. So they all rushed up stairs, as though it required five pairs of eyes to discover a hat and cloak, which was found lying on the bed, just as she had thrown them on coming up stairs. Bea went to her boxes, with a vague idea that the gloves and feather were in some way connected with the mystery; but they were put away with greatest possible care, and Kat, who always did the absurd things in hasty moments, reported that all her clothes and dresses were in their places, so she couldn't have gone away.

"Of course not; there's no place for her to go to," answered Olive.

"Mrs. Dane's, perhaps," suggested Kittie.

This was plausible.

"But what would she go for?" asked Bea in a moment. "And without any hat or shawl, and stay so late?"

n.o.body knew, and all looked irresolute and anxious.

"Her blue shawl is gone," exclaimed Kat, in the midst of her second rummage in the closet; for what, no one knew, since it was impossible for Ernestine to be hanging over a hook; or settled in one of her pockets. "And her straw hat!"

At that, all five dived into the closet, with no clearly defined purpose, but it seemed the only thing to do just then; and in the scramble that followed, the missing straw hat was found on the floor, but no blue shawl kept its company. They all took hold of it in turn, looking at it solemnly, and turning it over and over, as though it possessed the secret of its missing mistress. But if it knew, it kept its knowledge, and only flapped its ribbons in feeble protest at being twisted about so. No one said any thing, until Bea discovered two long golden hairs clinging to the straw, then she threw it down, and burst into tears. Everybody looked aghast, and Bea cried out between her sobs:

"I can't help it--indeed--I feel as if something dreadful had happened--and I'm so frightened."

Just then the clock struck ten, such slow solemn strokes, echoing through the still house, and everybody shivered drearily, and looked fearfully out into the dark hall; wishing, oh, how fervently, that mother was home. Bea stopped crying with a great effort, and seemed to feel that she must do something--but what? She looked at the girls in anxious inquiry. Kittie and Kat were sitting on the bed, trembling and frightened. Olive was so dreadfully pale and still; and Beatrice was nearly at her wits end.

"Perhaps--perhaps--" ventured Kittie, looking around as though her voice frightened her: "she may be trying to frighten us; you know we were a little fussy when she came up stairs this afternoon."

n.o.body seemed to think so, it might be a rather good joke, but Ernestine wouldn't keep it up until ten o'clock.

"Let's look in the rooms and then go down stairs, said Olive taking up the light. Perhaps she has gone to Mrs. Dane's after all, and is staying late to frighten us, as Kittie says. Come on, and when she comes, don't pretend to be surprised or a bit scared."

This being Olive's first suggestion, it was received as bearing some weight, as indeed suggestions and advice always are when they come from people who do not always have them at tongue's end, ready for all, or any occasions. A little brighter feeling dawned upon the forlorn group, as they went to the twin's and Olive's rooms, without finding any trace, and then returned to the sitting-room. Bea half hoped and expected that they would find Ernestine sitting by the fire, full of laugh, and ready to tease them on their fright and search; but she was disappointed, for the room was dreary and lonely, the light wood fire having died of neglect; and everything looked unutterably forlorn to their anxious eyes. In an ominous silence all four sat down on the lounge, closely huddled together, and tried to talk; but it was a vain attempt. It seemed impossible to bring any voice low enough so as that it did not sound like a trumpet in the painful stillness of the house; every one jumped when any one spoke, so by and by, they were perfectly still, while the clock ticked so loudly and every moment brought a deeper fear and trembling anxiety.

Eleven! Twelve!

"Let us go to bed," whispered Olive. Somehow it seemed that whispering was the only admissible thing then. "See, the lamp was not filled fresh to-day, and it's burning down; we'll be in the dark in a few minutes."

"Oh, I'm so afraid," quavered Kat. "Let's all sleep together."

No one seemed to object, for really it was something to chill even a brave heart. Those four girls alone in the great still house at midnight, with the terrible fear at their hearts, and their wildest imagination in full play. They went up stairs as softly as though Ernestine lay dead in the house; and all went with their eyes shut except Olive, who carried the lamp, and even she kept her eyes away from everything save right where she walked. No one had cried yet but Bea; so when they knelt about the bed for prayer, each one broke down, and they finally dropped asleep, sobbing softly, with their arms about each other.

Morning came, with the brightest of sunshine, and put a more cheerful face upon things, as daylight always does. The girls jumped up merrily, quite convinced that it was all a joke, and that they were foolish to have been so frightened. Ernestine had gone to Mrs. Dane's and stayed all night; she would be home pretty soon and they would all have a good laugh over it. So they thought, and flew about lively with their work; but breakfast was over and cleaned up, the house was all in order, and the day fairly begun; still no Ernestine had arrived, and Olive had not gone.

"Seems to me, I can't go until we know something," she said, standing in the door and looking down the street. "I will be home to dinner, and surely she will be here by that time."

"I suppose so, of course," said Bea, feeling last night's fear beginning to tug at her heart again.

"Seems to me nothing could happen with a morning so lovely as this,"

said Kittie, looking anxious and sleepy.

"Well, I suppose I must go," said Olive at last. "I'm an hour late now, and I don't know what to tell Mr. Dane; but then, it's the first time I've ever been tardy, so he may not speak of it."

"If she comes pretty soon, I'll trot down and tell you," volunteered Kat, who was stretching on the stairs, and pretty near strangling with a succession of gasps.

"All right," said Olive, going out reluctantly.

Morning went slowly and heavily; the girls tried to study as usual, but found it impossible. There was only one thought in their minds; Ernestine! Ernestine! where was she?

"Kittie," said Bea, when it was nearly noon, "Olive is so tired, I expect, being worried and up so late, and then bothering over her business this morning, suppose you take her dinner down to her, and then go round by Mrs. Dane's?"

"All right," answered Kittie, glad of something to work off her feverish impatience. "You fix the basket, while I run up stairs and get ready; it will only take me a minute."

Olive was sitting at her desk, very pale and tired, when Kittie came in.

She looked up eagerly, but in a glance, each saw that the other knew nothing.

"I brought your dinner," said Kittie, putting down the basket, "because--she hasn't come, and we thought you'd be so tired."

"I am, and so much obliged," answered Olive, with a grateful smile, thinking, as she put the lunch aside, how kind it was, for Kittie was tired too; and thinking also, that a few weeks ago they wouldn't have done so; but that had been much her own fault, she was quite convinced of it now.

"Mr. Dane went to the city on this morning's train," she said in a moment, "so I have not seen him."

"I'm going there," answered Kittie. "Mrs. Dane's, I mean. If Ernestine is there, I'll come back by here and tell you, and if I don't come you'll know that I haven't heard anything."

They both felt that nothing would be heard, but each said good-bye cheerfully, and Kittie hurried away.

Mrs. Dane was a dear, motherly-hearted lady who had no children of her own, and consequently felt a warm interest in any one's else. She had kept a watchful, loving eye on the Dering girls, especially, since their troubles, going to see them frequently, and dropping much comfort and encouragement in all that she said and did. When she saw Kittie coming, she met her at the door, with a warm, cheery smile and inquired gayly:

"Good morning, my dear; what is going to happen that you are without your mate? and which one are you?"

Kittie laughed as she went up the neat little walk, with early violets blooming either side, but Mrs. Dane noticed that she looked anxiously beyond her, into the house, and that her face was pale and worried, something unheard of, for either of the twins.

"I'm Kittie, and Kat was too busy to come," answered Kittie, as they went in, and she wondered what she should say next.

"It looks strange to ever see you without each other," said Mrs. Dane, detecting an uneasiness. "All well at home, dear?"

"Yes'm, pretty well, except spring fever."

"I saw Ernestine down town yesterday afternoon, and I thought she looked quite pale, but very pretty," continued Mrs. Dane.

"Yes'm," said Kittie again, with her heart jumping into her throat.