"Mama is going to have her go out to Mrs. Raymond's for two weeks. Has she been by here this morning?"

"Not that I have seen. I should think it a very good plan for her to be in the country a while, if she will only be quiet; the Raymond home is a very lovely one. I notice here lately that she coughs a good deal."

"Yes'm," answered Kittie, guiltily conscious that she hadn't noticed it.

"I hope it isn't much though."

"Nothing more than a spring cold, I fancy; you must all be very careful.

Now, my dear, take off your hat, and stay to dinner with me. I'm all alone, to-day."

"I should like to; thank you, Mrs. Dane, but Bea will be expecting me home, and I guess I had better go," said Kittie, so intensely disappointed with her call that she could hardly keep the tears back. So she went, and Mrs. Dane soliloquized, as she recalled the troubled face.

"Something the matter, I am quite positive; and those poor, dear, brave little girls all alone. I shall go over this evening and see if I am needed."

Kat was at the gate, and started out the moment she saw Kittie coming, to meet her. She was quite as ashy colored as ever brown-faced, rosy-cheeked Kat could be, and she was trembling as with a fit of ague, and as Kittie saw her, the question died on her lips, and she could only look her fear, as Kat burst forth:--

"She hasn't come--don't know anything about her; but Bea went up in the garret this morning to open the windows, and ever since she came down, she's been crying and pretty near fainted; won't tell me anything, and I thought you never would come. What _shall_ we do?"

"Oh, I don't know; why didn't I tell Mrs. Dane? I felt as if I ought to," cried Kittie, standing still in despair for a moment; then pulling off her hat and shawl, she put them on her sister in a hurry.

"There, Kat, run; I'm so tired, you can go the fastest; go to Mr.

Phillips, ask him to take Prince and go for mama, quick;" and, without a second thought, Kat dashed down the street at her most breathless flying speed, not caring who saw, or what they thought, and feeling as though she had done the right thing. Kittie hurried into the house; she was alarmed, indeed, at the violence of Bea's crying, and after trying in vain to find some cause, or give some comfort, gave up in despair.

"Don't ask me," Bea would cry, when questioned. "I can't tell! Oh, if mama was only here! What shall I do?"

"I've sent for her!" exclaimed Kittie, with a great sigh of relief. "Kat has gone now to ask Mr. Phillips, and she'll be here this afternoon, I know."

Bea looked up for an instant, with a flash of relief in her face, then burst out again, crying more bitterly than ever, and with a vehemence that shook her from head to foot.

"What ever can it be?" thought Kittie, flying up stairs, and off to the garret in desperation; but, pausing as she reached the door, and shaking with a sudden terror. What if Ernestine should be in there dead, or something? She shook and hesitated, but finally opened the door, for Kittie was brave, and looked in!

Nothing seemed to be the matter. The sunshine came warmly in at the windows and illumined every corner. The little black trunk stood there, but it was closed, and she did not notice it, though she went all around, and amazed to find nothing out of place. Over in an unused corner, for the garret was very large, stood a big dry-goods box that Mr. Dering had long kept some things packed in, but on the very day before his sudden death, he had been up in the garret, unnailed the heavy cover, and gone to the bottom for some things that he wanted, and then hurried away, intending to repack, and nail up, on his return; but in the little act, was a mighty working of Providence, or fate; the box had remained just so, with its dislodged contents at its side, the little black trunk among them, and the garret having been rarely entered during the winter, it had not been noticed or remedied.

Kittie, happening to glance that way, saw it; and with a vague idea that Ernestine might be in the box, went over to it, pushed the little black trunk nearer, and stood on it to look in; but saw only a confused lot of things, tumbled up in her father's haste, and so she got down, and left the garret slowly, more perplexed and bewildered than ever.

As she went down the stairs, she heard, she surely heard an unmistakable moan, that stopped her in an instant, and made her heart beat fast and loud with terror; and as she stood and listened, it came again, and it did not come from the garret either.

As I said, Kittie was brave. Kat would have torn wildly down stairs, and declared that the house was haunted; but she stood there, quite still, until that feeble moan came again; then with a thought as quick as lightning, she cleared the remaining steps with one jump, flew across the hall, and into the spare room!

There, at last, after all these hours of painful anxiety and fright, there, so near, that by simply opening an unused door, they would have found her--lay Ernestine.

As Kittie burst into the room, Ernestine tossed her arms above her head, and uttered that feeble moan again; and too astonished to utter a word of any kind, Kittie saw that she was unconscious, that her face was scarlet with fever, and that the dazed, wide open eyes recognized nothing.

She never exactly remembered how she got down stairs, and told Bea; or how it happened that Kat was with them when they went back; she only knew that Bea threw down her handkerchief, and worked swift and silent, that she helped, and that Kat flew off again to bring Mrs. Dane, and was back in just a moment, for that lady, being so forcibly impressed with an idea that something was wrong, had started over, and met Kat just a few minutes after she came tearing out of the gate.

It did not take long to get Ernestine into her own bed, to bathe her burning hands and face, and smooth her tangled hair, that lay all over the pillow like stray sun-beams. She submitted pa.s.sively to all of it, and appeared to notice no one, except now and then to turn her eyes to Mrs. Dane, with a puzzled, pleading look, and mutter with a wistful longing: "It isn't so, is it? I know it isn't;" then would drift into some unintelligible murmurings, or lay quiet with no expression of any kind in her face.

"She was perfectly well yesterday," said Bea, in answer to Mrs. Dane's questions. "She came up stairs singing, about four o'clock, and that was the last we saw of her until just now, when Kittie found her."

"Poor child! What did you do all night?"

"We sat up until twelve o'clock, and it seemed like a week nearly, Olive said, and we all hoped that she had gone to spend the night with you, and that is what kept us from giving up entirely. We were having a little argument when she left us," added Bea, dropping her eyes, but feeling that a little explanation was necessary. "So we thought perhaps she went off without saying anything, so as to frighten us."

Kittie looked at Bea in curious amazement. She was so rejoiced that Ernestine was found, that she wondered why Bea should still be so white and tremble, and sit down every once in a while, as though too faint to stand. Finally concluding that it was fatigue and worrying, Kittie hurried down to the kitchen, built a fire, and had water boiling for tea in a hurry, and in just a little while, brought a cup of that invigorating beverage, and insisted on Bea's drinking it, and another, too, if she could.

"How kind you are," said Bea, looking grateful, and trying to smile, but failing utterly. "You better go and drink some yourself. Where is Kat?"

"She rushed right off again to tell Olive," answered Kittie, sitting down on the floor. "Poor dear, she will be tired to death. Oh, Bea, aren't you glad we found her before mama came?"

Bea nodded yes, and hid her face in the tea-cup, while Kittie hearing Kat down stairs, hurried down to have a social and rejoicing cup of tea with her.

Mrs. Dering arrived late in the afternoon; the twins threw open the big gate, shouting the good news as they did so, and Prince came gayly up the old familiar drive with a joyous whisk of his tail, and a loud neigh of recognition, and as Kittie and Kat fell to hugging him wildly, Mrs.

Dering hurried into the house, and was met by Bea at the door.

"Were is she? What does it all mean?" cried the terrified mother.

"She was in the spare room--sick--we found her this afternoon," answered Bea, speaking as though the words choked her. "Come--come into the sitting-room, mama, and--let me tell you."

Mrs. Dering followed, with a terrible fear at her heart, and was obliged to sit down, so trembling and faint was she; and Beatrice meeting that anguished, imploring look, could not utter a word, but simply put her hand in her pocket, and drew out a worn, faded letter.

Mrs. Dering looked at it for an instant, then uttered a broken cry, and threw out her hands beseechingly.

"Oh, Beatrice! my daughter! Not that, not that, surely!"

"Yes, mama."

Mrs. Dering dropped her face in her hands with a moan that came from the depths of her heart, and overcome with the confirmation of her fears, Bea sank into a chair and burst into tears; and nothing but her sobs were heard for several moments.

Under all circ.u.mstances, Mrs. Dering was a woman of wonderful self control; so in a moment she looked up and asked:

"Do you know anything about it?"

"No, mama," answered Bea, then repeated the circ.u.mstances in the case, adding, with a look of loving sympathy into the grief-stricken face opposite, "When I went up into the garret this morning, I saw one of your trunks open, and your green silk and white lawn lying on the floor by the little black trunk, which was open also, and the letter was dropped on the floor, and I knew she had been there, and thought perhaps it was something she had left, so I read--only a part of it, and--oh, mama!"

Mrs. Dering vouchsafed no explanation, as Bea paused with a sob; but looked out of the window with a world of puzzled inquiry in her face, and murmured to herself:

"How did it ever come out of the box?"

"Papa," answered Bea, catching the words, "He was up there the day before he--died, and I remember when he came down with what he wanted, he said that he had gone clear to the bottom of the big box for it, and that he would put things back, and nail it up when he came back home, and they were all left just that way, mama; and oh--please tell me--is it true?"

"Yes, Beatrice, it is true, too true," answered Mrs. Dering, sadly, then went up stairs, and left Bea sobbing on the lounge.

In just a few minutes Kittie came running in, and paused astonished at the sitting-room door, but as she surveyed her sister, and heard how bitterly she was sobbing, she went in and knelt by the lounge.

"Bea, can't you tell me yet, what the matter is?"

"No-o," sobbed Bea.

"Well, please tell me just one thing: I'm so frightened about something, I don't know what. But, is Ernestine very very sick, and is that what you are crying about? or--or, _has_ something happened that we don't know anything about? Please tell me just this, Bea, and I won't ask any more."

"Yes, something has," was Bea's answer; and Kittie went sorrowfully away to tell Kat and Olive not to rejoice so much, yet.