“I have made inquiries,” she said, “but no little boy has arrived to-day. It is late, and I will give you a bed for the night. The child you have been taking care of may turn up in the morning, but I cannot possibly imagine why you should think he was coming here. Would you like to stay here for the night?” “It’s late,” said Mrs. Ives, “and my bones, they do ache terrible. Ha’ you got a feather bed and a room without curtains and bare floor?” Barbara could not help smiling. “I daresay we can accommodate you with what you require in one of the attics,” she said. “Then I will stay, for the child may come in the morning. Did you ask Mrs. Posset if the child had come?” “Certainly, I went to Mrs. Posset first of all.” “And what did she say?” “Your description made her cry. I had to explain that——” “What, my lady?” “That it could not have been our little boy.” “And why not, my pretty lady?” “Because I saw him after he died,” said Barbara. “Oh, you make my heart ache when you talk of him. He is dead and in his grave. Now I will take you to the housekeeper. She will give you a comfortable room for the night.” CHAPTER XXXIII. A MOMENT OF TRIUMPH. By the morning post Barbara received a letter from Dick. It was short, and its contents were startling. “DEAREST BARBARA” (he wrote),—“Something very bad has happened. I dare not and will not tell you what it is, but it is just possible that I shall be obliged to remain in town for a day or two. Please don’t be frightened, darling. The machinations of the wicked seldom prosper, and I have not the slightest doubt that everything will turn out right in the end. If you do not hear from me or see me for a few days try to keep calm and cheerful, for I am convinced that I shall soon be able to return to you, and that this most dark cloud will pass. My promise, however, to come back to Pelham Towers to-morrow I find impossible to fulfil. “Yours ever, my darling, “DICK.” Barbara was standing near the breakfast table when she read this letter. She read it once, twice, and even three times. After the third perusal she put it in her pocket. Mrs. Evershed had entered the room. She was standing near a glorious fire, for the weather happened to be intensely cold, and her eyes, dark and sunken, were fixed upon her daughter’s face. “What is it, Barbara? Have you news of your husband?” she asked. “I have had a letter from him,” said Barbara slowly. “He returns home to-day, does he not?” said Mrs. Evershed. “No, mother.” “But I thought you said he would come back to-day?” “So he told me in the note I received yesterday, but he finds it impossible to do so. Mother, do you greatly mind if I leave you here, and go up to London?” “To London?” said Mrs. Evershed. “But what for, Barbara, what for?” “I wish to see Dick.”