“Papa!” she said, “oh, how you have frightened me! Why didn’t you come in the other way?” It was a great relief, for her terror had been all the greater that she had never experienced any visionary alarms before, and her imagination was unprepared. She put out her hand to the bell, “I will ring for Brownlow----” Her father did not leave her time even for another word. He sprang forward and caught her arm. “Don’t do anything of the kind,” he said. “I want no Brownlow. I am going again immediately. I want no one. I don’t wish it to be known that I have been here.” It was certainly her father, but not the placid, prosperous, moneyed man she knew. His coat, which was of a rough kind she had never seen him wear before, was beaded with rain. His face was pale and haggard; his dress bore traces of mud, as if he had scrambled over ditches; his boots were wet and clogged with the damp soil. She looked at him with a terror she could not express, and he looked at her with a somewhat stern inquiry in his eyes. “But you are wet: you want--dinner--something?” she faltered. “Shall I run and bid them bring----” He shook her slightly, still holding her arm. “Are you good for anything?” he said. “Have you any stuff in you? Now is the time to test it. Go and get that white rag off. Put on your darkest dress, and come with me.” “Come with you? To-night, papa?” He gave her a slight shake again. “It will neither be to-night or any other night if you make so much noise. What are you capable of, Helen? Are you able to be quick, and silent, and brave? Can I rely upon you?--if not, say so; but make up your mind, for there is not a moment to lose.” She grew whiter than her white dress, and looked at him with gleaming, wide-open eyes. She had read of appeals like this, but she could not remember how the heroines responded. She said, faltering, “I can be quick, and quiet, papa.” “That is all that is necessary; but we have not a moment’s time to lose. No one must know that I have been here. I shall go out again outside the window and wait for you. Go up to my room, to the little Italian cabinet near my bed, on the right hand. You know it, and you know how to open the secret drawer? Here is the key: bring me a little portfolio, a sort of letter-case you will find in it. Stop; that is not all. Change your dress and put on thick boots, and a cloak, and a veil. Then go and bring Janey----” “Janey! papa? She has been in bed for hours.” “Did I say she was not in bed? Take up the child out of her bed, wrap her in something, and bring her down-stairs. You can surely carry that little thing down-stairs. After that I’ll take charge of her myself.” “But, papa, Janey! she is so little. If I wake her she will cry.” “Not she! But why wake her at all? Lift her, and wrap her in something warm; she need not be awoke. My poor little Janey! I can’t go without my Janey,” he said to himself.