On Tuesday morning, however, before he went out to the parish, Mr. St. John suddenly stumbled upon the auctioneer, who had gone quietly into the study as soon as its temporary master left, and was kneeling before the large old-fashioned writing-table, which Mr. St. John had used for so long, examining it, and tapping it with his knuckles to see where the drawers were. He had his back to the door, and did not see the surprised spectator, who stood and looked at him for a whole minute in silence. The curate went back to the hall where Cicely stood waiting for him with his hat in her hand. "Who is that?--who is that man?" he said, with his eyes more cloudy and wild than they had ever been, and a sort of palsied trembling all over him. "No harm, papa," said Cicely, trying to be cheerful; "only the auctioneer." "Yes, yes, I remember," he said, taking his hat from her. "It was stupid of me not to remember." "But, papa, you are trembling. You are not well. Come back and rest a little," she cried. "No, no; it is nothing. Go back where? I suppose he is going through all the rooms?" said Mr. St. John. "No, no; it gave me a little shock, foolishly, but the air will blow it all away," he said, with a smile, recovering himself. What terrors were in Cicely's mind all that day! but fortunately for her she had not much time to indulge them. She had to do all her packing, to take care of the children, to separate the few things her father possessed from Mr. Chester's furniture, to see after everything and everybody, providing something even (though she had so little) for the auctioneer and his men. And it was a relief to her when her father came back a little earlier than usual, and looking no worse. She said to herself that Mab was right; that he felt it, of course--which was to be expected--but otherwise was as well as usual. He had a little colour in his cheeks, and ate very well, and afterwards fell asleep in his chair. How natural it was that he should fall asleep! It was the very best thing for him. Notwithstanding, in her anxiety, Cicely went out into the garden to look at him through the open window, and make sure that all was right. How white his venerable head looked lying against the dark corner of the chair, his face like ivory but for the little pink in his cheeks, but he looked well, although he was wearied out, evidently; and no wonder! It was the most natural thing in the world.