"I was fast asleep and awoke by a cry. A few moments after it came again, and I slipped on some things, got a light, and came out into the corridor." "Fancy." "No, I'm sure of it. Ready?" "Nearly." "Let's go and see then. I don't like to be prowling about the house alone in the night." "Why?" said the major gruffly. "Because it's your own?" "Don't banter. I feel sure that the cry came from Miss Emlin's room." "Well, why not ring for the maids?" "Because I consider it to be my duty to see if anything is the matter first. Ready?" "Yes." "Come on." Sir John led the way out into the corridor, and the brothers listened with their shadows thrown grotesquely on the walls; but all was perfectly silent, and the major looked enquiringly at his brother. "Well," he said; "isn't it a pity to disturb the house?" "Come this way." Sir John led the way to one of the doors, stopped listening a few moments, and then knocked softly. No answer, and he knocked again. "Yes," came in a quick musical voice; "who is there?" "I, my dear," said Sir John. "Don't be alarmed. I thought I heard a cry come from your room. Are you quite well?" "Oh, yes, thank you. I must have cried out in my sleep then. I'm afraid I do sometimes." "Thank you, my child. Sorry to have disturbed you. Good-night, my dear." "Good-night, Sir John." "Humph! Satisfied?" said the major gruffly. "No, come along." Sir John tapped at another door, but the inmate of the room made no reply. "Hang it all. Jack, don't rouse up all the house," whispered the major. "There's nothing the matter, or someone else would have heard it." Just at that moment the deep baying of a dog was heard from the yard, followed by a long, low howl. "There is something the matter," cried Sir John, "or the dog wouldn't make that noise. Here, let's wake Glynne, and let her go round and see who's ill." "No, no, don't do that, man," cried the major. But his brother was already at his child's door, where he knocked sharply. "Glynne, Glynne, my dear." A low smothered cry, coming as if from a distance, was the response, and the dog's baying recommenced. Volume 3, Chapter IX. TORN FROM HER SPHERE. The act was simultaneous. Moved as if by the same set of nerves, Sir John Day and his brother dashed themselves against the door again and again, but the panelling was strong, and it was evidently well fastened within, and, for the time being, the door refused to yield. Then, as the brothers literally hurled themselves against it in their rage of disappointment, the fastenings gave way, and the door flew back with a crash, while Sir John fell forward into the darkness upon his knees. "Quick, Jem, the light," he cried, as he gathered himself up; but the major had forestalled him, and stepped back to take the candlestick from where it had been set down.