"Miss Capitola—Miss Capitola—why, what can be the matter with her? Miss Capitola!"
"Eh? What? Yes!" answered Capitola, pressing her hands to her feverish forehead, and putting back her dishevelled hair.
"Why, how soundly you sleep, my dear! I've been calling and rapping here for a quarter of an hour! Good gracious, child what made you oversleep yourself so?"
"I—did not get to bed till very late," said Capitola, confusedly.
"Well, well, my dear, make haste now, your uncle is none of the patientest, and he has been waiting breakfast for some time! Come, open the door and I will help you to dress, so that you may be ready sooner."
Capitola rose from the side of the bed, where she had been sitting, and went cautiously around that gaping trap door to her chamber door, when she missed the key, and suddenly remembered that it had been in Black Donald's pocket when he fell. A shudder thrilled her frame at the thought of that horrible fall.
"Well—well—Miss Capitola, why don't you open the door?" cried the old lady, impatiently.
"Mrs. Condiment, I have lost the key—dropped it down the trap-door. Please ask uncle to send for some one to take the lock off—and don't wait breakfast for me."
"Well, I do think that was very careless, my dear; but I'll go at once," said the old lady, moving away.
She had not been gone more than ten minutes, when Old Hurricane was heard, coming blustering along the hall and calling: