“Get some tea at once in the coffee-room, and order a cab. I want to drive to Pelham Towers,” she said. The man looked eager when she pronounced the name, for already strange news was beginning to be whispered with regard to Pelham Towers. The account of the trial had come down in the evening papers, and the whole country rang with the news. The tea was brought, and Clara drank it off, for she was parched with thirst and fever. In less than ten minutes she was driving to the Towers. She got there about half-past ten. She desired the man to take her to the side entrance. One of the servants came out and stared when she saw her. “I have called to speak to a person who I believe is here—a person of the name of Ives,” said Clara. “There is a little lady of that name in the house. She’s in the housekeeper’s room,” said the woman. “I wish to see her immediately.” “What name shall I say?” “Tell her that her daughter has come, and wants to speak to her.” “Will you please step in, ma’am?” Clara desired the cab to wait, and entered the hall. A moment later Mrs. Ives came out. “Clary, thank the good God you have come. I couldn’t keep it to myself another half an hour. There’s bitter, bitter trouble. Clary, I couldn’t have kept it to myself any longer without going mad, and Mrs. Posset can scarcely see from crying. Clary, what _do_ it mean?” “It means that I want to speak to you, mother, and immediately.” Mrs. Posset’s stout form was now seen in the doorway of her parlor. Mrs. Ives turned and addressed her. “My darter has come, ma’am,” she said, “and wants to see me on a matter of special business. There ain’t nothing surprising that ’appens nowadays, but ef I could see her alone for a few minutes it might be a convenience for all concerned.” “You can see her in here,” said Mrs. Posset. She went out of the room as she spoke. Clara and her mother entered. Clara sank down panting on the sofa. “Help me to take my cloak off,” she said. “I am not long for this world, but I want to unburden my soul before I go.” “What do you mean, child? How awful you look!” “Mother, where is the boy?” “I wish to God that I knew, but I don’t.” “He hasn’t come here, then?” “No, no, and your letter kept me here, and it was like imprisoning me. I’m near mad keeping it all to myself, and now there’s the news that Sir Richard Pelham has been arrested for the murder of the little chap who is alive and well.” “Yes, yes, mother, I know all that, and we will put it right. I have come down for the purpose, but we must find the boy, and we have not a moment to lose.” “You’ll tell the truth, Clary?” “As there is a God above.” “Thank the Lord, thank the Lord! But, child, how queer you look!” “I am dying, mother, but I shan’t die until I have told the truth. I have suffered much, and the last straw, the last straw came to-day. You have heard of it, haven’t you?” “To be sure, child, to be sure! But _how_ queer you look!”