Marcia and her sister-in-law descended, and hurriedly explained the mystery. While they were standing at the head of the stairs, Charles made his appearance, and received such congratulations from his brother as might be expected. He vouchsafed no word of reply, but went into the room where he had slept to get some article he had left. A sudden thought struck Mr. Sandford. He followed Charles into the room, and in a moment after returned,--but so changed! Imagine Captain Absolute at the duelling-ground turned in a twinkling into Bob Acres, Lucy Bertram putting on the frenzied look of Meg Merrilies, or the even-tempered Gratiano metamorphosed into the horror-stricken, despairing Shylock at the moment he hears his sentence, and you have some notion of the expression which Sandford's face wore. His eyes were fixed like baleful lights in a haggard, corpse-like countenance. His hair was disordered. He clutched his cravat as though suffocating. His voice was gone; he whispered feebly, like one of Ossian's ghosts,-- "Gone! gone! Who has it? Marcia! Lydia! Charles! Who's got it? Quick! The money! Gone?" He rushed into the room again, deaf to any reply. He got upon his hands and knees, looked under the bed, the wardrobe, the dressing-table, the chairs, muttering all the while with a voice like a dying man's. He rose up, staggering, and seized Marcia by the arm, who trembled with terror at his ferocity. "The money! Give me the money! You've got it! You know you have! Give it to me! Give"-- "Pray, be calm," said Mrs. Sandford; "you shall know all about it." "I don't want to know," he almost screamed; "I want the money, the money!" Then dropping his voice to a lower key, and with a tone which was meant to be wheedling, he turned to his sister-in-law:-- "You've got it, then? How you frightened me! Come, dear sister! don't trifle with me. I'm poor, very poor, and the little sum seems large. Give it to me. Let me see that it is safe. _Dear_ sister!" "I haven't it," said Mrs. Sandford, "But compose yourself. You shall know about it." He cried audibly, like a sickly child. "It isn't gone? No, you play upon my fears. Where is the pocket-book?" "How are you ever going to know, if you won't hear?" asked Marcia. "I wouldn't be so unmanly as to whine so even about a million." "No, you think money is as plenty as buttons. Wait till you starve,--starve,--till you beg on a street-crossing." "Listen," said Mrs. Sandford.