"Dar it is!" cried Dolf. "It all goes togeder." "Oh, laws," cried Clo, "as ef dat ar would set you a sighin'; I knows a heap better'n dat, Mister Dolf." "Yer don't do me justice, Clorindy," said Dolf, seriously, putting on an injured look; "yer neber has done me justice." "Why, what have I done now?" demanded Clo, beginning to play with her apron string. "Clo! I say, ole Clo!" Victoria, who was getting impatient with her confined position behind the laundry door, where she had done jealous duty as a listener, now dashed in upon the lovers, and broke up the conversation just as it reached a most interesting point. "I say, ole Clo, them perserves are a bilen over; you can smell 'em here." CHAPTER LV. IN THE NET. The day was wearing slowly on; a day more terrible in its moral darkness and suspense than perhaps had ever before descended upon that old house. Mr. Mellen was engaged with a succession of visitors on business, with whom he remained shut up in the library; Elsie took refuge at first in her own chamber, but either nervousness or a desire to talk drove her again to Elizabeth's room. Their dressing-rooms were separated by Elizabeth's chamber, so Elsie flung the door open and ran into her sister's room, exclaiming: "You must let me stay; I can't be alone." Elizabeth only replied by a gesture; she was walking slowly up and down the floor as she had been during all the morning; it was entirely out of her power to accept one instant of physical rest. She left the door open and extended her promenade through the second chamber into Elsie's, and then back, pacing to and fro till she looked absolutely exhausted, but never once pausing for repose. They were undisturbed, except when one of the servants knocked at the door for orders, and at each request for admittance Elsie would give a nervous little cry. "Tell them not to come any more," said she, lifting both hands in nervous appeal. "They must have their orders," Elizabeth replied; "come what may, everything must go on as usual to the last moment." Elsie shivered down among her cushions and was silent. She had pulled the sofa close to the hearth, gathered a pile of French novels about her, and sat there trying her best to be comfortable in her feeble way. "If you would only sit down," she exclaimed, at length. "I cannot," replied Elizabeth; and resumed her dreary walk. Then there came more interruptions; Victoria wished to know if they would have luncheon. "Marster's got in de library wid dem men--'spect missus don't want to go down." "What is she talking about?" questioned Elsie from her sofa. "Luncheon," said Elizabeth; "will you have it up here?" "As if one could eat--" A warning gesture from Elizabeth checked her. "You may bring the luncheon up here," Elizabeth said to the girl. Victoria went out and closed the door. "I believe they would come if we were dying, to know if we would take time to eat," cried Elsie.