She raised her voice almost an octave in the intense excitement she was evidently trying to combat. The sound penetrated to Aileen, shut in the back hall, and again she thrust her fingers into her ears. At that moment Octavius entered from the outer door. "What are you doing here, Aileen?" For the first time in his life he spoke roughly to her. She turned upon him her white scared face. "What is _she_ doing?" she managed to say through chattering teeth. Octavius repented him, that under the strain of the situation he had spoken to her as he had. "Go to bed, Aileen," he said firmly, but gently; "this ain't no place for you now." She needed but that word; she was half way up the stairs before he had finished. He heard her shut herself into the room. He hung up his coat, noiselessly opened the door into the main hall, closed it softly behind him and took his stand half way to the library door. He saw nothing, but he heard all. For a moment there was silence in the room; then Aurora spoke in a dull strained voice: "I don't know what you mean--I haven't had any message, and--and"--she swallowed hard--"nothing is final--nothing--not yet--that's why I've come. You must help me, Almeda--help me to save Champney; there is no one else in our family I can call upon or who can do it--and there is a chance--" "What chance?" "The chance to save him from--from imprisonment--from a living death--" "Has he been taken?" "Taken!"--she swayed back from the table, clutching convulsively the edge to preserve her balance--"don't--don't, Almeda; it will kill me. I am afraid for him--afraid--don't you understand?--Help me--let me have the money, the amount that will save my son--free him--" She swayed back towards the table and leaned heavily upon it, as fearing to lose her hold lest she should sink to her knees. Mrs. Champney was recovering in a measure from the first excitement consequent upon the shock of seeing the woman she hated standing so suddenly in her presence. She spoke with cutting sarcasm: "What amount, may I inquire, do you deem necessary for the present to insure prospective freedom for your son?" "You know well enough, Almeda; I must have eighty thousand at least." Mrs. Champney laughed aloud--the same mocking laugh of a miserable old age that had raised Octavius Buzzby's anger to a white heat of rage. Hearing it again, the man of Maine, without fully realizing what he was doing, turned back his cuffs. He could scarce restrain himself sufficiently to keep his promise to Aurora. "Eighty thousand?--hm--m; between you and Octavius Buzzby there would be precious little left either at Champ-au-Haut or of it." She turned in her chair in order to look squarely up into the face of the woman on the opposite side of the table. "And you expect me to impoverish myself for the sake of Champney Googe?" "It wouldn't impoverish you--you have your father's property and more too; he is of your own blood--why not?"