A telegram for Aunt Margaret! What could it be? Ought she to go downstairs to lend the support of her presence, or stay in her room where she was supposed to be enjoying a refreshing nap? She heard the opening of the door and the sound of voices in the hall, then to her surprise footsteps ascended the stairs, and someone whispered a gentle summons-- "Sylvia! Are you awake? A telegram has arrived for you, my dear. You had better see it at once." Miss Munns looked flurried and anxious, but her niece smiled a placid reassurement. "I expect it is from father, fixing the date of my journey. He said he would wire." She tore open the envelope and glanced hurriedly at the address. "Yes, it is! He is at Marseilles. `Come at--'" Her voice died away, and she stood staring at the words in horrified incredulity, while Miss Munns stepped forward hurriedly, and peered over her shoulder. "Come at once. Father dangerously ill. Remain in charge till you come.--Nisbet." "Nisbet! Nisbet! That was the name of the friends with whom he was to travel. `Dangerously ill!' `At once!' What can it mean?" Sylvia laid the paper on the bed and pressed her hands against her head. She was deathly pale, but perfectly composed and quiet, and the expression of her eyes showed that so far from being stunned, she was thinking in quick, capable fashion. "There is a train from Charing Cross at four o'clock," she said presently. "I should arrive in Paris at midnight, and at Marseilles some time to-morrow. It is three now. My box is more than half packed. I shall have time. Mary must go out and order a cab!" "My dear, it is impossible! You cannot possibly leave to-day. I will go with you myself, and I cannot get ready at an hour's notice. Wait until to-morrow, and--" Sylvia turned round with a flash of anger in her eyes, but suddenly softened and took both the old lady's hands in her own, holding them in a tender pressure. "Listen," she said, and her voice, gentle though it was, had in it a new quality which awed and impressed the hearer. "Listen!--there is not one single minute to spare. If there was a train at half-past three, I should catch that, box or no box, for father is dying, Aunt Margaret--he would not have let me be summoned like this for any passing ailment. Nothing in all the world would make me wait here until to-morrow, so please, dear, do not hinder me now. I know it is impossible for you to come with me, but I will telegraph the moment I arrive, and if--if there is still time, you can follow then." "But you can't travel alone! Edward would not like it. He is so particular. How can you manage about the trains?"