But she could think no longer. She dropped on the seat behind the screen, never stopping to consider that she was clearly visible from the turn of the stairs overhead, and slept like a dead thing. Hours passed, and she knew nothing, felt nothing, except that once she tried to brush what felt like a fly from her cheek; once turned, in what seemed a happy dream, to the familiar touch of a man’s rough tweed coat on her face, stretching her arms out in sleep at the happy thought; in her dream nestling close to the dear shoulder, till suddenly a nightmare terror shook her. She tried to scream and could not; woke for an instant to think she heard a footstep stealing away, and, not half-awake, was asleep again almost before she realized her thought. “Where can Ismay be?” Mrs. Trelane wondered at lunch. Cristiane shook her head with guileless innocence. Wray said carelessly that he did not know, but his face flushed a little. Mrs. Trelane finished her lunch and went to find out. Half-way upstairs she looked down; there was Ismay on her comfortably padded sofa, stretching herself awake. “Well, of all the peculiar people! I never saw any one stretch so like a cat. Ismay,” she said aloud, “what on earth are you doing there?” “I was tired--I think. Mother, come here a minute.” The unusual tone in her voice astounded the listener; she came down-stairs hastily. “Tired! From what? And why did you go to sleep here? I couldn’t find you anywhere, and I was terrified Cristiane might think something about you and that horrid Cylmer. Tell me, did she mean anything this morning?” sharply, seating herself on the end of the sofa. “Don’t know, and don’t care,” said the girl sleepily. “Of course not. How could she? It was to pay me for saying Marcus was horrid.” “You said that to her!” “Oh, don’t be agitated. She didn’t believe me,” said Ismay flippantly. “Mother, I want to speak to you. No, don’t move! It’s safer here than anywhere. We can hear any one coming a long way off on this hard oak floor. I want you to tell me--think hard, mother, I mean it--if you don’t know of any one that might have been in Abbotsford’s room that day?” “What makes you think of that now?” “I’m always thinking of it,” her hand to her head that felt so oddly heavy. “I’m frightened.” “What of? I didn’t do it,” almost absently. “Think of some one, you say. You little fool, do you suppose I have not tried and tried? There was no one who had anything against Abbotsford. I know you don’t believe me; I know you think I did it.” “You might as well have if we can’t find out who did,” Ismay said wearily. “Look here, where was Marcus that day?” “Marcus!” She hushed the cry with a sudden remembrance of those two in the dining-room; but she went on with unexpected freedom, recollecting they were going out, were gone by now.