He made his way to the sofa, and asked— "Better now?" Mrs. Keith caught his hand. "Colin, will you please attend to me? I can't get anybody to listen," she said fretfully. "Where is Giles? I want to see him. They tell me I must not go to my room, and I must go." "Not yet. Keep quiet for a time." He took a chair by her side, and inquired, "How did it happen?" "I'm sure I don't know. How can I tell? It was all horrible confusion. I had put a candle on the floor, just for a moment—and the things must have caught. I was arranging—something—in the box. I didn't notice anything wrong, till there was a roar, and the whole pile had blazed up. I just rushed to the door, and it wouldn't open—and I forgot I had turned the key, and thought I was locked in and should be burnt to death. I must have lost my senses, and when I came to, I was on the floor, and the room seemed full of smoke and flames. I don't know whether I screamed. It was all horrible. I seemed to be going off again, and then somebody lifted me, and I heard Giles speak. But I don't feel sure of anything except those flames everywhere." She shuddered. "Was it that box in your cupboard, ma'am?" asked the maid, evidently curious. She bit her lip. "Yes, I—it was something I wanted to find. You asked me if you could get a ruffle out." "Yes, ma'am, and you said the key was lost." "Yes, but last night I found it again—and I had a fancy—" She broke off. "Colin, I don't want people to meddle with that box. I won't have it. There are things of my own in it—things I don't choose to have pulled about. I must go and see." She was starting up, but the light touch of his hand restrained her. "Not now. You must keep quiet, and the room is not in a state for you at present. I'll see to anything." "The box is to be put back into the cupboard 'immediately'—just as it is—nothing in it moved or taken out. I won't have it meddled with." "That is easily done." He would not suggest that the contents probably existed no longer. Phyllys made her escape, and they went together to the once pretty bedroom, now a scene of desolation. The smell of fire was strong; curtains and cretonne coverings had vanished; blackened remains of burnt material lay about; and water had been flung in streams over walls, floor, and furniture. In the centre stood Mr. Dugdale, surveying the wreck. "'You' look considerably the worse!" he remarked to Colin. Colin paid no heed. He was shoving an open and fire-blackened box into the cupboard. But it was empty. "Everything burnt, I suppose," he said to Phyllys. "No need to say so yet—only excite her." "What has become of the fellow who rescued your mother?" demanded Mr. Dugdale. "What fellow? Giles carried her out of the room."