"The cook! Great Caesar, the cook! Oh, dear me! Stop me, somebody. What--what did you do it for?" he gasped, between the paroxysms. "Hush! Young Mr. Merryweather, is it? Do be quiet, sir! We're close by the verandah. Was--was she frightened, sir?" "She? Who? One of 'em was." "She--the old one. I wouldn't frighten Miss Margaret; but she has too much sense. Was the other one scared, sir?" "Into fits, very near. You did it well, Mrs. Cook! I couldn't have done it better,--look here! I shall have to tell them, though. I came expressly to find out--" Groping in the dark, Frances clutched his arm again, this time in a gentler grasp. "Don't you do it, sir!" she whispered. "Young gentleman, don't you do it! If you do, she'll stay here all her days. No one can't stand her, sir, and this were the only way. Hark! Save us! What's that?" No glimmer of light could penetrate to the closet where they stood, in the thickness of the wall, but a tremendous peal of thunder shook the house, and Miss Sophronia's voice could be heard calling frantically on Gerald to come back. "I must go," said Gerald. "I--I won't give you away, Mrs. Cook. Shake!" "You're a gentleman, sir," replied Frances. They shook hands in the dark, and Gerald ran out. Even as he opened the door the storm broke. A violent blast of wind, a blinding flare, a rattling volley of thunder, and down came the rain. A rush, a roar, the trampling of a thousand horses; and overhead the great guns bellowing, and the flashes coming and going--it was a wild scene. The family had come in, and were all standing in the front hall. All? No, two, only,--Margaret and Miss Sophronia. In the confusion and tumult, the children had escaped, and were gone. Margaret, a little pale, but perfectly composed, met Gerald with a smile, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world for young gentlemen to walk out of the wall. She was supporting Miss Sophronia, who had quite lost her head, and was crying piteously that they would die together, and that whoever escaped must take her watch and chain back to William. "Poor William, what will become of him and those helpless babes?" "It's all right, Miss Montfort," said Gerald, cheerfully. "I ran the noise down, and it was the simplest thing in the world. Nothing to be alarmed about, I do assure you; nothing." "What was it?" asked Margaret, in an undertone. "I'll tell you by and by," replied the young man, in the same tone. "Not now, please; I promised--somebody. You shall know all in good time."