‘There’s somebody coming,’ said Emmy; ‘can it be Rex and Bertie?’ ‘Most likely only somebody coming to call. Emmy!’ ‘What, mamma?’ ‘I was going to say, don’t stay in the room if--if it were. But no, never mind; it was a mistake; I would rather you did stay.’ ‘I will do whatever you please, mamma.’ ‘Thank you, Emmy. If I turn to you, go. But perhaps there will be no need.’ They waited, falling into a curious silence, full of expectation; the carriage came slowly up to the door; it jingled and jogged, so that they recognised instinctively that it must be the fly from the station. ‘It will be the boys, after all,’ Mrs. Blencarrow said, with something between relief and annoyance. ‘No,’ she added, with a little impatience; ‘don’t run to the door to meet them. It is too cold for you; stay where you are; I can’t have you exposing yourself.’ Something of the irritability of nervous expectation was in her voice, and presently the door opened, but not with the rush of the boys’ return. It was opened by the butler, who came in solemnly, his white shirt shining out in the twilight of the room, and announced in his grandest tone, ‘Colonel and Mr. d’Eyncourt,’ as two dark figures followed him into the room. Mrs. Blencarrow rose to her feet with a low cry. She put her hand unconsciously upon her heart, which leaped into the wildest beating. ‘You!’ she said. They came forward, one following the other, into the circle of the firelight, and took her hand and kissed her with solemnity. Colonel d’Eyncourt was a tall, slim, soldierly man, the other shorter and rotund. But there was something in the gravity of their entrance which told that their errand was of no usual kind. When Emmy came forward to greet her uncles, they turned to her with a mixture of impatience and commiseration. ‘Are you here, my poor child?’ said one; and the other told her to run away, as they had something particular to say to her mamma. The butler in the meantime was lighting the candles on the mantelpiece, which made a sudden blaze and brought the two gentlemen into sight. ‘I am sorry I did not know you were coming,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow, recovering her fortitude with the sudden gleam of the light, ‘or I should have sent for you to the station. Preston, bring some tea.’ ‘No tea for us,’ said Mr. d’Eyncourt; ‘we have come to see you on family business, if you could give us an hour undisturbed.’ ‘Don’t bring any tea, then, Preston,’ she said with a smile, ‘and don’t admit anyone.’ She turned and looked at Emmy, whose eyes were fixed on her. ‘Go and look out for the boys, my dear.’