Where could he be, what could it mean? All the jealousy was over before this time, and she would have gone quickly enough to her mother, but that the silence in her room, made her fear to disturb her, and to give her a sleepless night. At last, just as the hands of her little watch reached two, she heard a movement of the latch of the beach gate, and her brother's step coming up the path. She flew down to the door of the summer parlor and opened it for him. There was only a faint light coming from the hall. He did not speak, and she followed him across the parlor, into the hall. "Where have you been?" she said humbly, "I have been so worried." But when she got into the hall under the light, she uttered a little scream, "St. John! You are all wet, look at your feet." The polished floor was marked with every step. "It is nothing," he said hoarsely, going towards the stairs. "Is mamma's light burning?" "You are not going to mamma's room," said Missy, earnestly, "at this hour of the night? You might make her very ill. I think you are very inconsiderate." There came into his eyes for a moment a hungry, evil look. He looked at Missy as if he could have killed her. "Then tell her why I didn't come," he said in an unnatural voice, taking a candle from her hand, and going up the stairs, shut himself into his own room. Poor Missy was frightened. She wished she had let him go to his mother; as the light of the lamp fell on his face, it was dreadful. His clear blue eyes, with their dark lashes, had always looked at her with feelings that she could interpret. She had seen him angry--a short-lived, sudden anger, that had melted while you looked, but never malicious; but this was malice, despair. The habitual expression of his eye was soft, happy, bright; a good nature looking out. She did not think he had lost his mind; she only thought he might be losing his soul. His eyes were bloodshot, his face of such a dreadful color. "This is trouble," she said to herself, as with trembling hands she put out the light, and went up the dark staircase. At her mother's door she paused and listened, and a voice within called her. How gladly she heard it! She went in, longing to throw herself into her mother's arms and cry what is it? But she controlled herself, and went softly to the sofa where her mother lay, still undressed, the lamp burning on the table beside her, her eyes shining with an unusual lustre. "I didn't know you were awake," said Missy, sitting down on an ottoman by the fire. "Your room is cold," and she pulled together the embers, and put on a stick or two of wood, her teeth chattering. She knew quite well it wasn't the cold that made them chatter. "Where is St. John?" said her mother. "He has just come in," returned Missy, looking furtively at her--"and has gone to bed." "Why didn't he come in to me?" asked Mrs. Varian, anxiously. "Because I thought that it--it was so late--you ought not to be kept awake so long."