So she kept silence, but it was a heavy burden to bear, and under its weight she became downcast and gloomy, a different Biddy from the briskly alert one of two months ago. The baby was the first to notice this. She missed her nurse's cheerful voice, and looking up in her face found there a settled sadness instead of the usual ready smile. This she resented in her own fashion, and cried dismally, wrinkling up her tiny features in disgust, and when this had happened once or twice Mrs Roy's attention was also drawn to the change. "Are you quite well and happy, Biddy?" she asked. "You don't look so bright as you used to." Biddy twisted up the corners of her apron and hung her head on one side, but made no answer. "_Are_ you quite happy, Biddy?" persisted her mistress. Biddy would have given worlds to say, "I'm terr'ble afraid of the ghost," but her tongue refused to utter the words, and after waiting a moment Mrs Roy turned away. But that night she said to her husband in mournful emphatic tones: "Richard, I _hope_ it's only my nervousness, but I _do_ believe that somehow or other Biddy has heard something about _that_." No one was quite happy and comfortable at Truslow Manor just now, for latterly the baby had been ailing; she had evidently caught a chill and was feverish and fretful. "How could Dulcie have taken cold?" Mrs Roy wondered many times in the day, while the conscience-stricken Biddy stood speechless, and thought of that conversation at the kitchen door. Mr Roy was made uneasy too by his wife's anxiety, and also felt deeply incapable of making any suggestion about the origin or treatment of Dulcie's illness; everything seemed a little ruffled and disturbed in its usual even flow. "You know I have to take the service over at Cherril to-night," said Mr Roy to his wife one morning. "They've asked me to dine there afterwards. You won't mind my leaving you? I shall get back by ten." "Oh, no!" replied Mrs Roy readily, though in truth she was not fond of spending the evening at Truslow Manor alone. "I shall have Biddy down to sit with me; and I do think baby seems better to-day. It's a long walk for you, though, Richard, and there's no moon." "Oh, I'll take a lantern!" said the curate, and accordingly he started off that afternoon on his six-miles walk thus provided. Biddy and her mistress spent the evening together, talking softly over their needlework, so as not to disturb Dulcie's sleep in the cradle near. The glowing fire, the cheerful room, and Mrs Roy's kind chat were almost sufficient to drive away Biddy's usual terrors; at any rate she forgot them for a time, and was peacefully happy. But this did not last long. Suddenly the baby's breathing became hoarse and difficult, and Mrs Roy, kneeling at the side of the cradle, looked up in alarm at her nurse. "Oh, Biddy," she cried, "what is the matter with her? See how she struggles for breath!"