They looked up curiously as Sylvia passed, but no one came forward to meet her, and the waiter gesticulated dumbly in answer to her questionings, and led the way upstairs without vouchsafing a word in reply. It was humiliating to think that her accent had so degenerated as to be unrecognisable in his ears, but there was no other explanation, and it was at least evident that she was expected, since he seemed in no doubt as to where to conduct her first. He turned down a corridor to the right, stopped at the second door, and threw it open, and Sylvia saw with surprise that it was not a bedroom, but a sitting-room, in which a lady and a gentleman were already seated. The gentleman leapt to his feet, wheeled round and stood with his face to the window; the lady shrank back into her chair, then suddenly jumped up and ran forward with outstretched hands. It was Mrs Nisbet, though looking older and more worn than Sylvia had expected to see her, and nothing could have been kinder or more affectionate than her greeting. "My dear child--my poor dear child, how tired you must be! You have had an awful journey. Come in, dear, and rest a few minutes while I will make some tea for you. English people always like tea, don't they? And I will make it myself, so that it shall be good. Come, dear, sit down! Let me take off your hat." She stroked the girl's cheek with her hand--such a hot, trembling hand-- and there was an odd, excited thrill in her voice which filled Sylvia with a vague alarm. She stepped back a step, and drew herself up straight and determined. "Thank you very much, but I don't want any tea. I want to go at once to father. It has been such a long, long journey. I mustn't waste any more time!" "No, no, but you are not ready just this moment. You must have something to strengthen you first. If you won't wait for tea, here is some wine. Drink a glass, dear, do. To please me!" Sylvia stared at her fixedly, and from her to that other figure which stood motionless by the window without so much as a glance for his friend's child. A cold fear seized her in its grip, the room swam before her eyes, and out of the confusion she heard a weak voice saying brokenly, "Tell me quickly, please! It won't help me to drink wine. Father--" Mrs Nisbet burst into a passion of tears, and clasped the girl tightly in her arms. "You are too late, dear. An hour too late! We did everything we could. He left you his last love and blessing." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was all over. The two long days of waiting, the last glimpse of dad's still face, the funeral in the foreign cemetery, and Sylvia sat alone in the hotel sitting-room, striving to recover sufficiently from the shock to decide on the next step which lay before her.