Below stairs all sorts of stories were rife. Victoria peeped into Elsie's room and came down with the information that "She lay dar like a beautiful corpus!"
Everybody groaned in concert, but she added new astonishment by saying:
"And missus ain't nowhars about. She ain't in Miss Elsie's room, and she ain't in her own, and her bed ain't been touched all night."
Clorinda began to nod her turban with a sapient air.
"What did I tell yer!" cried she. "Now what did I jist tell yer."
"But whar can she be?" wondered Dolf. "What do yer s'pose has happened, Miss Clorinda?"
"'Nuff's happened," returned Clo, "and more'n 'nuff! I told yer de tunderbust would break, an it has."
They urged and entreated her to speak; but it was difficult to speak when she literally knew nothing, so she contented herself with going about her work with unusual energy, while the rest stood around and watched her, deeming this an occasion when idleness was to be taken quite as a matter of course.
Clo nodded her head, muttered to herself, and made dreadful confusion among her pots and pans, exciting her fellow-servants to a fearful pitch by her air of mystery, but not a word would she speak beyond vague and appalling hints.
While the servants below stairs wore away the morning in vague conversation and surmises, growing every instant wilder and more improbable, Grantley Mellen sat in that darkened chamber watching his sleeping sister.