"I ran away, Nora," said Maude, coming forward. "Octave has a party, but they won't miss me if I stay only a little time. I have wanted to come all day, but they would not let me." "Who would not?" asked Nora. "Not any of them. Even Aunt Edith. Nora, is it _true_? Is it true that he is dead?" she reiterated, her pretty hands clasped with emotion, her great blue eyes cast upwards at Nora, waiting for the answer. "Oh, Miss Maude! you might have heard it was true enough up at the Hold. And so they have a party! Some folk in Madam Chattaway's place might have had the grace to put it off, when their sister's husband was lying dead!" "It is not Aunt Edith's fault. You know it is not, Nora. George, you know it also. She has cried very much to-day; and she asked long and long ago for the bull to be sent off. But he was not sent. Oh, George, I am so sorry! I wish I could have seen him before he died. There was no one I liked so well as Mr. Ryle." "Will you have some tea?" asked Nora. "No, I must not stay. Should Octave miss me she will tell of me, and then I should be punished. What do you think? Rupert displeased Cris in some way, and Miss Diana sent him to bed away from all the pleasure. It is a shame!" "It is all a shame together, up at Trevlyn Hold--all that concerns Rupert," said Nora, not, perhaps, very judiciously. "Nora, where did he die?" asked Maude, in a whisper. "Did they take him up to his bedroom when they brought him home?" "They carried him in there," said Nora, pointing to the sitting room door. "He is lying there now." "I want to see him," she continued. Nora received the intimation dubiously. "I don't know whether you had better," said she, after a pause. "Yes, I must, Nora. What was that about the dog scratching a grave before the porch?" "Who told you anything about that?" asked Nora, sharply. "Ann Canham came up to the Hold and spoke about it. Was it so, Nora?" Nora nodded. "A hole, Miss Maude, nearly big enough to lay the master in. Not that I thought it a token for _him_! I thought only of Jim Sanders. And some folk laugh at these warnings!" she added. "There sits one," pointing to George. "Well, never mind it now," said George, hastily. Never was a boy less given to superstition; but, with his father lying where he was, he somehow did not care to hear much about the mysterious hole. Maude moved towards the door. "Take me in to see him," she pleaded. "Will you promise not to be frightened?" asked Nora. "Some young people can't bear the sight of death." "What should I fear?" returned Maude. "He cannot hurt me." Nora rose in acquiescence, and took up the candle. But George laid his hand on the girl. "Don't go, Maude. Nora, you must not let her go in. She might regret it. It would not be right."