Hastily throwing on a shawl, Jelly started for Dallory Hall. It was an inclement night, pouring with rain. And Ellen Adair took up her place in silence by the side of the dying woman--for she _was_ dying, however ignorant they might be of the fact. Apart from Ellen's natural grief for Mrs. Cumberland, thoughts of what her own situation would be, if she lost her, could but intrude on her mind, bringing all sorts of perplexity with them. It seemed to her that she would be left without home or protector in the wide world. CHAPTER XX. RICHARD NORTH'S REVELATION. For a wonder, the dinner-table at Dallory Hall included only the family-party. Madam headed it; Mr. North was at the foot; Richard on one side; Matilda on the other. Scarcely a word was being spoken. Madam was in one of her imperious humours--when, indeed, was she out of them?--the servants waited in silence. Suddenly there rang out a loud peal from the hall-bell. Richard, who was already beginning to be disturbed by vague fears as to what his ex-workmen's hostilities might make them do, sat back in his chair absently, and turned his head. "Are you expecting any one, Dick?" asked his father. "No, sir. Unless it be a message to call me out." It was, however, a message for Mr. North; not for Richard. Mrs. Cumberland wanted to see him. "On the instant," the servant added: for so Jelly had imperatively put it. Mr. North laid down his knife and fork and looked at the man. He did not understand. "Mrs. Cumberland is at Eastsea," he cried. "No, sir, she has just got home, and she wants to see you very particular. It's the lady's maid who has brought the message." "Mr. North cannot go," broke forth madam to the servant. "Go and say so." But Jelly, to whom the words penetrated as she stood in the hall, had no notion of her mistress's wishes being set at nought by madam. Jelly had a great deal of calm moral and physical courage--in spite of the supernatural terrors that had recently influenced her--some persons might have said her share of calm impudence also: and she made no ceremony of putting her black bonnet inside the room. "My mistress is dying, sir; I don't think there can be a doubt of it," she said, advancing to Mr. North. "She wishes to say a few last words to you, if you'll please to come. There's no time to be lost, sir." "Bless me!--poor Fanny!" cried Mr. North, rising: his hands beginning to tremble a little. "I'll come at once, Jelly." "You will _not_ go," spoke madam, as if she were issuing an imperial edict. "I must go," said Mr. North. "Don't you hear, madam, that she is dying?" "I say you shall not go." "The wishes of the dying must be respected by the living," interposed Jelly, still addressing Mr. North. "Otherwise there's no telling what ghosts might haunt 'em after." The words were somewhat obscure, but their meaning was sufficiently plain. Mr. North took a step or two towards the door: madam came quickly round and placed herself before him.