"Quick! I am ill. Fetch Lord Henry," gasped Marie; and as the butler hurried out, she followed him downstairs, leaving her sister too much startled by the effects of her revelation to do more than listen at the half-opened door. "What do I care!" she said at last. "She is ill, and she is gone. She will not dare to say a word, and I can live down any nonsense on the part of Rie." The front door closed as she uttered these words, after which she turned back into the room, and threw herself upon a couch. "I wish someone would come, if it was only stupid little Dick," she said pettishly. "Poor old Rie! But she did not marry Marcus Glen." Clotilde's white teeth closed with a snap, and she lay perfectly still, gazing at her handsome face in the nearest glass. Volume 3, Chapter VIII. GERTRUDE TAKES SANCTUARY. Valentine Vidler and Salome his wife chirped about the gloomy house in Wimpole Street like a pair of exceedingly happy crickets. Vidler used to kiss Mrs V. and say she was a "dear little woman," and Mrs V. would always, when they were downstairs amongst the shining coppers and tins, call Vidler "love." They were quaint to look at, but their blood circulated just as did that of other specimens of humanity; their nerves grew tense or slack in the same way; and in their fashion they thoroughly enjoyed life. Certainly no children were born unto them, a fact due, perhaps, to the absence of light; but somehow the little couple were very happy without, and so their life glided on as they placidly thought of other people's troubles, talked of how the Captain took this or that, wondered when Sir Humphrey would come and see him again; if Lady Millet would ever get over the snubbing she had had, for wanting to interfere during a visit, and let in light, which she declared she could not exist without, and Captain Millet had told her she could get plenty out of doors. Dull as the house seemed, it was never dull to Salome, with her dusting, cleaning, cooking, and cutting-up little squares and diamonds of cotton print for her master's needle, and afterwards lining and quilting the counterpanes, which were in great request for charitable affairs and fancy bazaars. The kitchen at Wimpole Street was very cosy in its way--a good fire always burned in the glistening grate, a cricket or two chirped in warm corners; there was a very white hearthstone, a very bright steel fender, and a very thick warm hearthrug, composed of cloth shreds, in front of the little round table drawn up pretty close; for absence of light meant apparently absence of heat. The tea-things were out, it being eight o'clock; the Captain's dinner over, Renee seated by the panel reading to him in a low voice, and the Vidlers' duties done for the day. Hence, then, they had their tea punctually at eight o'clock, making it their supper as well.