Miss Rawson had frequently before been left, while Denzil was away, in sole charge at Normansgrave. She was a woman of courage, and it had never occurred to her before to be nervous in the absence of the master of the house. But now she was nervous, and for a reason which she could not define. She told herself that she was no longer young, and that she had been unduly shaken by the surprising turn of events. The knowledge that Felix still lived, the tidings of his danger, the sudden departure of her nephew, the break-up of the house-party, and the waiting for news in the forsaken house, broke her rest and gave her bad dreams. The sight of Rona's white face and dilated eyes affected her uncomfortably. Rona was in a very highly-strung condition, and would start at the least sound. She had seemed feverishly anxious to let Denzil go--had displayed a curious reserve on bidding him farewell; but her manifest depression since he went could be attributed, thought Miss Rawson, to but one cause. Rona was so restless that it was painful to see her. She wandered from garden to park, and back into the house, aimlessly. Her usual occupations, reading, writing, gardening, cycling, golfing, were all laid aside. Nothing interested her, far less contented her. And she either would not or could not confide in the elder woman who had been so good to her. Her wide, unseeing eyes, her tightly folded lips, kept Miss Rawson at a distance. She could see that the girl was desperately unhappy--she would have said more unhappy than even the circumstances satisfactorily accounted for--but she could do nothing for her but leave her free to indulge her melancholy. On Sunday, after breakfast, she asked whether she thought of going to church. Rona said "No" hastily, rose from the table abruptly, and seemed as if she would go out of the open French window upon the lawn. Miss Rawson felt that she ought to remonstrate. "Rona," she said, "I think you should go. Denzil would wish it; I am sure we stand in need of help at this moment." The girl stood in the window, her eyes fixed, her attitude tense. "I feel afraid to go," she said, after a minute's pause. "Isn't that rather a foolish thing to say?" asked Miss Rawson, gently. "Something dreadful is going to happen--don't you feel it?" said Rona, in a whisper. "I feel as if it might happen in church." Miss Rawson stared. She knew that she, too, was under the influence of that strange idea that something was about to happen. She looked upon it as a thing that should be fought against. "Surely," she said, kindly, "church is the safest place." Rona looked at her wistfully, and heaved a sigh. "Very well, dearest," said she, affectionately, "if you think so." So saying, she crossed the room and went upstairs to get ready.