There was no time for more, for just then Emilie entered the room with some medicine, which poor Sybil was obliged to take every two hours; and the child shrank back in fear. This was the evening of the last Altes ball before Lent. Cissy was not inclined to go, not feeling particularly well, and Marion, too, was much better pleased to stay at home. They spent till evening as usual, quietly reading and working. From time to time the roll of carriages in the street below reminded them of the gaiety which the little world of Altes was about to enjoy. Marion did not envy the ball-goers, but she could not help thinking, half sadly, of her one ball at Altes, and all that passed there. Mrs. Archer was tired, and went to bed early, leaving her cousin alone. To get rid of her thoughts Marion got a book, and forced herself to attend to its contents, in which she so succeeded that an hour or two went by, and it was close to midnight before she moved. Suddenly, she was startled by the sound of a carriage driving up rapidly and stopping at their door. Knowing that all the servants were disposed of for the night, and fearing, that a sudden ring of the bell might frighten Cissy, Marion went quickly to the front door, which she unlocked and opened softly, and stood with it slightly ajar, watching to see if indeed the carriage contained any visitor for them. She heard the driver’s voice, replying to some question, but it was a very dark night and she could distinguish nothing distinctly. In a moment more she felt, rather than saw, that some one was approaching the door, which, to prevent this person’s ringing the bell, she immediately opened more widely. Evidently the stranger took her for one of the servants; for, though apparently rather surprised at finding the door open and some one behind it the unseasonable visitor inquired in French if it would be possible for him to see “une de ces dames, Madame au Mademoiselle.” The voice told more tales this time than that its owner was an Englishman! “Sir Ralph,” said the girl, whom in the dim light he had taken for a servant, “Sir Ralph, it is I—Marion.” (Even then she could not say Miss Freer.) “Come in and tell me what is the matter. Oh tell me! Tell me quickly,” she added, as she saw that he bore a burden in his arms. Something covered with a shawl, but which he held tenderly and closely, as if he would guard it from touch or approach. “What is that Sir Ralph?” she almost screamed, as he entered the passage, and she saw that what he carried was like a lifeless nerveless body, hanging limp and loose and heavy in his grasp, though she could see no face or features. “Hush! Marion,” he said, unconsciously calling her what she had called herself; “hush! I know you will control yourself and help me. What a mercy you were still up!”