Was it this unknown something even now tracking her, that made her long for the familiar daylight, and feel afraid of night, with its silence, its solitude, and its dark? “I will go to bed and try to sleep,” she said. “It is but a few hours. My husband is certain to be here in the morning.” She rose, laughed at herself for starting on some slight noise in the quiet house--old Andrews locking up the front door, probably--snuffed her candle to make it as bright as possible, and prepared to go up-stairs. A light knock at the door. “Come in, Andrews. The fire is all safe, and I shall vanish now.” She said this without looking round. When she did look she was somewhat surprised to see, not the butler, but Marmaduke Dugdale. It was odd, certainly, but then Duke had such very odd ways, and was always turning up at impossible hours and in eccentric fashion. He looked eccentric enough now, being thoroughly drenched with rain, with a queer, scared expression on his face. Agatha was amused by it. “Why, what a late visitor! The children are gone home hours ago, though they waited ever so long for 'Pa.' Have you been all this while at Mr. Trenchard's?” “I haven't been there at all.” Agatha smiled. “Don't'ee laugh--now don't'ee, Mrs. Harper.” And Duke sat down, pushing the dripping hair from his forehead, pulling his face into all sorts of contortions, until at last it sunk between his hands, and those clear, honest, always beautiful eyes, alone confronted her. There was that in their expression which startled Agatha. “What did you come for so late, Mr. Dugdale?” “What did I come for?” he vaguely repeated. “Now don't'ee tremble so. We must hope for the best, my child.” Agatha felt a sudden stoppage at the heart which took away her. breath. “Tell me--quick; I shall not be frightened;--he is coming home to-morrow.” “My dear child!” muttered Duke again, as he held out his hands to her, and she saw that tears were dropping over his cheeks. Agatha clutched at the hands threateningly--she felt herself going wild. “Tell me, I say. If you don't--I'll----”-- “Hush--I'll tell you--only hush!--think of poor Anne! And there's hope yet. Only they have not come into Southampton-roads--and last night there was a fire seen far out at sea--and it might have been a ship, you know.” Thus disconnectedly Marmaduke broke his terrible news. Agatha received them with a wild stare. “It's impossible--totally impossible,” she cried, uttering sounds that were half shrieking, half laughter. “Absolutely, ridiculously impossible. I'll not believe it--not a word. It's impossible-- _impossible!_” And gasping out that one word, over and over again, fiercely and fast, she walked up and down the room like one distraught. She was indeed quite mad. She had not any sense of anything. She never once thought of weeping, or fainting, or doing anything but shriek out to earth and Heaven that one denunciation--that such a thing was and must be--“_impossible!_”