"Yes, yes, but what do you mean by ill,--not very ill?--oh, don't say that, Justin, dear Justin," and in a tremor of fear she clung to his arm, and wildly scrutinised his face. "Rather ill, I fear, but you will be brave. You will not make him worse. Come, let me see you compose yourself; we shall soon arrive." She hid her face on his shoulder, and cried quietly, but when the carriage stopped she put her handkerchief in her pocket, and took on a resolute expression. Prosperity ushered them into the untenanted reception-room, and said that his mistress had gone out. "She has some guests?" said Justin. They had gone with her, Prosperity assured him, also Captain White. "Is Miss Chelda at home?" "Yes, sir." "Just ask her to see us." Prosperity disappeared, and Justin uneasily surveyed Derrice, who stood with clasped hands near the door. Presently Chelda came to them. She was as composed as usual, but there were two red spots high up on her cheeks, and her lips were nervously compressed. "Oh, Chelda, where is my father?" cried Derrice, running to meet her. Chelda glanced at Justin. How much did he know? His expression told her that Captain White had revealed everything to him, but his slight nod toward his wife warned her to be careful. "Your father has gone away," she murmured. "I think something recalled him." "Gone--and without seeing me! My poor sick father! Oh, how could you let him go? Did he not want to see me? Will he not come back?" Derrice was feverishly awaiting a reply, when an extraordinary change came over Chelda. Her puzzled gaze had gone wonderingly out the window. It now came back with rapid alarm. "Derrice," she said, sharply, and seizing her by the shoulder, "do you value your father's life,--his reputation?" "Oh, yes, yes," replied the startled girl. "What do you mean?" "Then dry those tears," said Chelda, sternly, and with her own handkerchief she wiped Derrice's burning cheeks. "Say nothing of your father; you know nothing about him. He has not been here. You are merely making a call. Sit down and occupy yourself with that book,--or, better still, go to the music-room. You will find a sonata open on the piano. Play, play as you value your father's safety. Do you hear me?" and she gave her a slight push toward the door. "I do," said Derrice, in terrified accents, and appealing to her husband, "but what does this mean? Can you not explain?" His lips formed the words, "Not now; go, my darling," and with inexpressible sadness he waved her from him. Derrice went stumbling through the doorway. She had one glimpse of another carriage being driven furiously up to the door, and an inflamed crimson visage peering from it, then she dizzily found herself seated at the piano, her fingers tremblingly picking out the harmonies of an immortal composition.