“Perhaps--I don’t know. But there--of course not; it will be too late. I shall just take baby to bed with me,” Thea answered, with an irrepressible sigh. “I wish now that you had kept nurse home. I have been sent for to see a dying woman to-night. But of course I shall not go till the servants come back; I could not leave you all alone.” “A dying woman?” “Yes; a poor negro girl who was chamber-maid at Verelands for many years. She sent a boy here just now to ask me to come--said she had a dying confession to make to me, although I can’t guess what Nance can have to say to me. She never had any secrets that I know of--certainly none that could interest me.” “But she will be looking for you. It is dreadful to disappoint a dying person--even a poor negro,” Thea said, with a sort of awe, and added: “I--I--wish now we had not let our maids go to that concert to-night. We should not then have been so utterly alone, but”--with a slight shudder--“go, dear mother. I will stay alone. I will have Alan, my little man, for company.” “Leave you alone here? No, indeed, although of course you would be safe enough. I have been at Verelands alone many a time at night. But it would be too lonely for you, my dear, and Norman would not like it if I left you here,” cried the kind old lady whose standard of right was almost wholly what Norman liked or disliked. Yet she was most anxious to go to Nance, having a keen, womanly curiosity over what the woman had to confess. But she was too loyal to Thea to even desire to gratify her curiosity at the expense of the girl’s comfort. She turned toward the door, saying, mildly: “I will go and tell the boy he must go and bring Nurse Mary from the dance to stay with you, then I will go to Nance just for a few minutes, if you do not mind, dear.” But Thea was marshaling all her courage to the rescue. “There would be so much time wasted waiting here for Mary to come, and if the woman is dying, there is not a minute to lose,” she said. “Mother, put on your bonnet and go with the boy, and you can send Mary to me as you go along. It is not quite a mile, I think. I can stay alone that little while.” “You would really not be afraid, my dear?” “Certainly not. But if I should feel lonely, I can wake baby and play with him.” “That would spoil him, and he would expect it to-morrow night,” said oracular grandmamma. “I will read, then,” said Thea. She recommenced her persuasions, and as a result she presently had the old lady going docilely away with the messenger to poor Nance’s bedside, leaving her locked securely into the large, lonely house, its only occupant save the tiny sleeping babe. Thea quickly came back along the silent hall and shut herself into the nursery.