“My dear child, you look quite mysterious. Is anything wrong?” “I hope not, but I am not sure.” “Won’t you tell me, Barbara?” “I cannot, mother, for I do not know myself. Dick, it appears, is in some sort of trouble. Will you stay at the Towers and look after things and let me be free to go to town? Otherwise I cannot rest—I cannot really, mother.” “You look strange, Barbara, and frightened.” “I am frightened,” said Barbara. “I do not know why, but I am.” “Sit down, dear, and have some breakfast.” “You will look after things here, and set me free to go up to town?” repeated Barbara. “Of course, my love, although I think it most unnecessary for you to go.” “I must decide for myself on that point,” said Barbara. Mrs. Evershed said nothing more. Barbara crossed the room and rang the bell. When the servant appeared she ordered the carriage to be round within half an hour. “I shall catch the ten o’clock train from Haversham,” she said, as she seated herself before the coffee urn. “Barbara, my dear, you are trembling. You must not give way,” said her mother. “Indeed, I am convinced there is no cause for alarm. You have had little to do with men hitherto, my poor child, and do not know what queer creatures they are, with their ups and downs and their mysteries, and their sudden departures from home. Oh, I had plenty of that sort of thing to go through when your poor father was alive, and I know all about it.” “I don’t understand you, mother,” said Barbara impatiently. She could not bear a word to be even hinted against Dick. She slipped her hand into her pocket and softly touched his note. “You will come back to-morrow, Barbara?” “Probably,” replied Barbara. “You will spend to-night at my house?” “If necessary, I will do so, mother.” Barbara could scarcely eat. She broke a piece of toast up mechanically and put dry morsels into her mouth. “I am certain there is nothing the matter,” said Mrs. Evershed cheerfully. “To-morrow will be Christmas Eve. Would you like me to carry on the arrangements you have already made?” “Please, mother, yes, certainly. I will desire the servants to come to you for orders, and Mrs. Posset will, of course, manage the housekeeping. There won’t be much for you to do, but order the carriage whenever you want it. Make yourself as happy as you can. I am sorry to have to leave you, dear mother.” “I wonder what is wrong,” thought Mrs. Evershed when Barbara left the room. A few moments later young Lady Pelham left the Towers. Barbara did not look back as she was bowled up the avenue. Had she done so she would have seen little Mrs. Ives standing near one of the side entrances bobbing her accustomed curtseys. Mrs. Ives was in a sad state of indecision. She had also received a letter by that morning’s post. It was from her daughter Clara. Clara had desired her to stay where she was, to keep her secret, and on no account to leave Pelham Towers until she got further directions.