"What!" cried Mrs. Berryman. "It couldn't have been—no, of course it couldn't—he wouldn't come without writing—he—"
She paused in the midst of her incoherent speech, and, turning to the table, took up the tumbler and drank from it. Then she addressed Melina again.
"Go to bed," she said; "do you hear what I say? Go to bed."
Melina left the kitchen and went upstairs to her own room. She was not very hungry, for, as Mr. Jones had remarked, she had made a good tea, so she did not mind being kept without supper. She undressed herself in the dark, and then knelt down in her night-gown by her bedside to pray: she never went to bed without praying now, for she had learnt to feel that God was really her friend—a tender, loving Father, who cared for her and to whom she could tell all that was in her heart. She had only just finished her prayers when she heard her grandmother's footsteps on the stairs, and, springing hastily to her feet, she jumped into bed. A minute later Mrs. Berryman opened the door and looked in; she was carrying the hand-lamp she had used in the kitchen.
"Are you in bed, child?" she inquired.
"Yes, Gran," Melina answered, adding timidly, for she was always afraid of the old woman if she had been drinking, "Good night."
"Good night," Mrs. Berryman said; then she went to her own room.
The little girl drew a breath of relief. When Mrs. Jones had asked her if she was tired she had answered, as she thought, truthfully in saying she was not; but now she discovered that she was really very weary—doubtless excitement had kept her from feeling so before. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep; but though her limbs ached with fatigue, her mind was still on the alert. In imagination she went over the delightful experiences of the day and listened to the mysterious murmur of the sea.
"I've been so happy, so very, very happy," she thought, "but now it is all over. It was dreadful coming back to Gran—to find she had been drinking again. Oh, what must the Joneses think of her! But there, they know what she is!"
Then she remembered all William Jones had said to her about her grandmother; she had scarcely thought of it during the day; and a great sense of shame filled her heart, and she burst into tears. She wept bitterly until, at length, thoroughly worn out, she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, from which, some while later, she awoke with the feeling that something was wrong. She sat up in bed, coughing, to find the room full of smoke. With a cry of horror she realised what was amiss. The house was on fire.