Lennox spoke to his uncle as they approached the locked door.
"It was only a lark, just to clear the room of its bad character and have a laugh at your expense this morning. But I'm afraid he's ill—fainted or something. He turned in about one o'clock. I was rather bothered, and couldn't explain to myself why, but—"
"Don't chatter!" answered the other. "You have both done a very wrong thing and should have respected my wishes."
At the door he called loudly.
"Let us in at once, Tom, please! I am much annoyed! If this is a jest, it has gone far enough—and too far! I blame you severely!"
But none replied. Absolute silence held the Grey Room.
Then came the footman with a frail of tools. The task could not be performed in a moment, and Sir Walter, desirous above all things to create no uneasiness at the breakfast-table, determined to go down again. But he was too late, for his daughter had already suspected something. She was not anxious but puzzled that her husband tarried. She came up the stairs with a letter.
"I'm going to find Tom," she said. "It's not like him to be so lazy. Here's a letter from the ship, and I'm awfully afraid he may have to go back."
"Mary," said her father, "come here a moment."
He drew her under a great window which threw light into the corridor.