"Violet has done this!" Another time she almost cried aloud as if with a sudden pain. Then all at once she stood still. Her expression changed. Her face flamed with colour, and she commenced with cold, feeble fingers to get out of her beautiful gown. A feverish intention born of that sudden thought began to run like wildfire in her veins. She tore at the hooks, she had no thought for the delicacy of the lace, or the fragility of the material. She almost spurned the gown with her foot as it slipped from her, and she veritably threw aside the jewelry she had worn. On her way to the door she only paused to fold herself in her warm dressing-gown and to shed her high-heeled satin shoes. Then softly, and with that same curious fever urging her on, she mounted the stairs cautiously till she stood outside the room where her children slept. Caroline was a light sleeper. She started up in bed nervously as she heard the door open and some one move softly into the room. "Who is it?" she asked. "Who is there? Is it you, Dennis? Has anything happened?" Camilla came to the foot of the bed. She could not speak; she was breathing hardly, with difficulty. At first the girl could not distinguish her clearly, the light was so dim; but almost immediately she recognized that it was not Dennis who had come, and, slipping in haste from the bed, she went at once to the bowed figure that sat rocking itself to and fro, breathing in that painful fashion, as if struggling with some great suffering. "You are ill; what can I do for you? Tell me. Oh, please tell me!" Caroline said, her nerves all ajar. Camilla caught at her two hands. "I ... I have had a shock," she said, when she could speak, "and I am frightened ... very frightened. I cannot stay alone. I want to be near the children. I _must_ have the children with me.... I have come to take them downstairs." To her suffering, distorted, mental vision in this moment Caroline looked like some spirit, tall and straight in her long, white nightgown, with her dark hair falling in two heavy plaits from her small, smooth head. The girl was more than a little frightened herself, but she calmed herself with an effort. It was, of course, impossible for her even to guess at what had happened; nor did she wish to, she only wanted to help, to comfort, if possible, for she realized that she had to minister to one who was passing through no ordinary ordeal. Putting her finger on her lip as a gesture of silence, she drew Camilla to her feet. "I will go down with you," she whispered, and they passed together out of the room, but Camilla's mind dwelt on the children. "Don't separate me from them," she said; her voice was so changed, so dull, so hoarse. "Don't stand between me and the children," she said almost passionately.