The next morning they had only each other for company at breakfast, but they had just risen from that meal when they were startled by the entrance of Mrs Keswick. Having expected her appearance during the whole of the time they were eating, they had no reason to be startled by her coming now, but for their subsequent amazement at her appearance and demeanor, they had every reason in the world. Her face was pale and grave, with an air of rigidity about it, which was not common to her, for, in general, she possessed a very mobile countenance. Without speaking a word, she advanced towards Lawrence, and extended her hand to him. He was so much surprised that while he took her hand in his he could only murmur some unintelligible form of morning salutation. Then Mrs Keswick turned to Annie, and shook hands with her. The young girl grew pale, but said not a word, but some tears came into her eyes, although why this happened she could not have explained to herself. Having finished this little performance, the old lady walked to the back window, and looked out into the flower garden, although there was really nothing there to see. Now Annie found voice to ask her aunt if she would not have some breakfast. "No," said Mrs Keswick, "my breakfast was brought up-stairs to me." And with that she turned and went out of the room. She closed the door behind her, but scarcely had she done so, when she opened it again and looked in. It was quite plain, to the two silent and astonished observers of her actions, that she was engaged in the occupation, very unusual with her, of controlling an excited condition of mind. She looked first at one, and then at the other, and then she said, in a voice which seemed to meet with occasional obstructions in its course: "I have nothing more to say about anything. Do just what you please, only don't talk to me about it." And she closed the door. "What is the meaning of all this?" said Lawrence, advancing towards Annie. "What has come over her?" "I am sure I don't know," said Annie, and with this she burst into tears, and cried as she would have scorned to cry, during the terrible storm of the day before. That morning, Lawrence Croft was a very much puzzled man. What had happened to Mrs Keswick he could not divine, and at times he imagined that her changed demeanor was perhaps nothing but an artful cover to some new and more ruthless attack. Annie took occasion to be with her aunt a good deal during the morning, but she reported to Lawrence that the old lady had said very little, and that little related entirely to household affairs.