"But Arthur does not trouble himself to write to us, or to let us know anything of his movements," resumed madam. "We have not had a syllable from him since he sent word that old Bohun was dead. Is he still in London?--or at his aunt's?--or where?" "I'm sure I don't know where," retorted Matilda, irritated at being interrupted. Neither did she care. Madam turned the letter over in idle curiosity: but the postmark was not to be deciphered. Leaving it on the mantelpiece, she went to look after Mr. North. He stood on the lawn, doing something to a dwarf-tree of small and beautiful roses. There was some wind to-day, and his long coat waved a little in the breeze. "Did you hear what I said--that I was coming to your parlour?" demanded madam, swooping down upon him majestically. "_Money must be had_. I want it; Sidney wants it; the house wants it. I----" Mr. North had straightened himself. Desperation gave him a little courage. "I would give it you if I had it. I have always given it you. But what is to be done when I have it not? You must see that it is not my fault, madam." "I see that when money is needed it is your place to find it," coolly returned madam. "Sidney cannot live upon air. He has----" "It seems to me that he lives upon gold," Mr. North interrupted in querulous tones. "There's no end to it." "Sidney must have money," equably went on madam. "I must have it, for I purpose going away for a time. You will therefore----" "Goodness me! here's the telegraph man." This second interruption was also from Mr. North. Telegraphic messages were somewhat rare at Dallory Hall; and its master went into a flutter. His fears flew to his well-beloved son, Dick. The messenger was coming up the broad walk, a despatch in his hand. Mr. North advanced to meet him; madam sailing behind. "It is for Captain Bohun, sir," spoke up the man, perceiving something of Mr. North's agitation. "For Captain Bohun!" interposed madam. "Where's it from?" "London, madam." Motioning the messenger to go to the house for his receipt, she tore it open without the smallest ceremony, and read its contents: "Dr. Williams to Arthur Bohun, Esq.: "James Bohun is dying. Sir Nash wishes you to come up without delay." Looking to right and left, stood madam, her thoughts busy. Where could Arthur be? Why had he left London? "Do _you_ know?" she roughly asked of Mr. North. "Know what, madam?" "Where Arthur Bohun is." Mr. North stared a little. "Why, how should I know?" he asked. "It's ever so long since Arthur wrote to me. He sends me messages when he writes to Dick." Madam swept into the drawing-room. She took the letter from the mantelpiece, and coolly broke its black seal. Even Matilda's scruples were aroused at this. "Oh, mamma, don't!" she exclaimed, starting up and putting her hand over the letter. "Don't open that. It would not be right."