And again he slapped his pocket into which he had slipped the fat pocket-book. He was gone. Elsie waited one palpitating minute after he had locked the door. She could hear the sound of his feet descending the stairs. They died away. She listened yet a while longer, lest, with maniac cunning, he should return for the purpose of catching her in the act of disobedience. But the heavy clanging of a door and the screech of the great key in the lock warned her that it must be now or never. Elsie flew to the door of the weaving-room. She would find Mr. Stennis. She would throw herself upon his mercy. She did not believe--she could not believe that he knew anything of the treatment she had undergone during the past months. "Grandfather, grandfather!" she whispered hoarsely, knocking on the panel. "Open, it is I--Elsie Stennis! Save me, save me!" But there was no reply--only silence, and the scurry of a rat behind the wainscot. She called again, louder than before. "Grandfather, grandfather! Quick; he will come back! Save me, grandfather!" But there was utter silence. Even the rat had found a shelter. Swiftly Elsie stooped. The doors of the old houses of the date of Deep Moat Grange have roomy keyholes. Elsie set her eye to the one which she found empty of a key. She saw the most part of a bare room--at least, the illuminated square about the room. She saw her grandfather, his head bowed upon his work--his frame still with the stillness of death, and the knife which had done its deadly work lying close by. At his elbow a candle was flickering itself out. Something dripped, and on the floor a darker darkness spread itself slowly out. Even as she looked, the flame rushed upward, like the life of a man which returns not to his nostrils, and all was blank about her. Elsie would have fainted, but she heard steps on the stair--swift and light--the footsteps of Jeremy returning, and she knew that she must meet him with the smile upon her lips. CHAPTER XXX HOW ELSIE DANCED FOR HER LIFE The white and gold walls of the drawing-room of Deep Moat Grange, though tarnished by time, and with spots of mould beginning to outline themselves again for want of Aphra Orrin's careful hand, gave back gaily enough the mellow glow of a hundred candles all of wax. "Dance, Elsie woman!" cried Mad Jeremy, emptying a tumbler at a gulp. "But first drink ye also, lassie. That will bring back your bonnie colour! What has come to ye, bairn? Ye are pale as a bit snaw-drap that sets its head through a wreath at a dyke-back. But red, red, red as ony rose shall ye be, I'se warrant ye! Dance, lassie, dance!"