"No," returned Queenie, doggedly. "Stand back, Cathy; I am going to break open the door." Either the young muscles were braced with new strength, or else the fastening of the door was crazy with age, but as Queenie threw herself against it with all her force the wood-work round the lock splintered, and in another moment the door yielded. "Now, Cathy, the light! Ah, merciful heavens! the savages!" as she threw herself down on the floor beside the white, senseless figure of the child and gathered it into her arms. "She is not dead--she has only fainted, Queenie! Oh, Queenie, don't look like that!" cried poor Cathy, sobbing as though her heart would break over the pitiful spectacle. The elder sister's face was as white as the child's, her eyes were burning and dilated. "If she is dead, Fraulein is her murderer. Out of the way, Cathy. They have gone too far; they shall hear me now; don't stop me--nothing on earth shall stop me from speaking!" "Queenie, Queenie, come back; are you mad?" but Cathy might as well have spoken to the wind; she could do nothing but follow, protesting at every step. As they crossed the hall they could hear Miss Titheridge's voice raised somewhat sharply in the school-room; she had returned, then. Queenie made no comment; she simply walked in and laid her unconscious burthen at the governess's feet. "Miss Marriott, good heavens! what does this mean?" and Miss Titheridge recoiled in absolute dismay. "It means that Emmie is dead, and that Fraulein is her murderer!" returned Queenie in an awful voice. The poor thing really believed it for a moment. "No, no," sobbed Cathy, sitting down on the floor and drawing the heavy head on to her lap; "she is not dead, she is living, breathing; some of you help me to revive her; it is cold and fright and hunger that has made her faint. Oh, Miss Titheridge, don't mind poor Queenie, she is almost beside herself." "If she is not dead she is dying," persisted the girl in a hoarse voice. "No, don't touch her; don't dare to touch her!" as Miss Titheridge, with a sudden feeling of remorse, bent over the unconscious child and lifted the little cold hand. "It is in your house this deed is done; ask Fraulein, who has shut her up in the dark for hours, pinching with cold and hunger, and in spite of all her cries to be released; ask Cathy; ask Clarice; ask any of them." "Fraulein, is this true?" and Miss Titheridge looked absolutely shocked. She had treated the poor orphan with hardness and severity, but she was not a bad woman. A sudden revulsion of feeling came over her as she looked at the prostrate figure in Cathy's lap; "Fraulein, is it true that you could have acted so barbarously?"