I think I must have looked upset, myself, when I knocked at Miss Rose’s door to deliver the captain’s message, for the minute the words were out of my mouth she turned quite pale and scared-looking, and began to tremble. “Oh, Rabbett,” she says, the tears coming into her great, pretty dark eyes, “is anything the matter? does he look angry?” “I must say, miss,” I answers, “as he seems a bit more pepperyer than common, but I hope it’s nothing much.” “Oh, Rabbett,” she says, beginning to cry, and wringing her poor little helpless hands, “I know it is something dreadful. I daren’t go down. I am so frightened.” But she were obliged to go down, and go down she did, a-trembling all over, and out-and-out faint with fear. She had always been a timid little affectionate creature, and the captain were pretty hard to face when his temper were up. I am not ashamed to confess as I stayed as near within hearing distance as I could, without positively eavesdropping. I own up as I had my fears as to what the end of it all would be, knowing the captain were drove too wild to be wise, or even reasonable, and I wanted to be near enough to see Miss Rose when she came out of the room, and say a comforting word to her, if she seemed to need one. But she came out of the room in a different manner to what even I had expected. The minute she went in I heard the sound of Mrs. Dalgetty crying and the captain storming, and for a quarter of an hour after the storm fairly raged. The captain stamped and swore, Mrs. Dalgetty sobbed, and tried to put in a word now and then, but Miss Rose seemed to be too much stunned to speak. I never heard her voice after the first few moments, and at last the door opened again, and she came running out, her beautiful dark eyes wide open, her innocent face as white as death. She did not see me, but ran past where I stood, up to her own bedroom, and there was that in her look as brought my heart into my mouth, and, queer as it may seem to you, the first thing I thought of was Master Lionel. “There’s harm been done,” says I to myself, “deadly harm, and no one can undo it but one as loves her, and that she’s fond of herself in her girl’s way; the one as she needs now is that there fine little fellow as was almost like a little lover to her.” And when she came down I feels surer of it than ever; for in three minutes more she did come down, with her hat and jacket on, ready to go out. And her face was even whiter than before; and when she sees me she holds out her hand, her eyes looking big and bright with a dangerous sort of shine. “Good-by, Rabbett,” she says. “I am going.” “Miss Rose,” says I, “where are you going to?” Then she smiles sad and bitter, and a bit hard. “Ask papa,” she answers. “He ought to know. He sent me away. I don’t exactly know myself, unless—unless one person in the world loves me well enough to take me.” “Miss Rose,” I breaks out, “for God’s sake don’t go to Basil Roscoe!”