"Oh, my dear! where have you been? It's terrible; it's terrible!" and the good lady wrung her fat hands. "Oh, what is to be done?"
"What is terrible?" asked Patricia stupidly, for her head ached.
"Mrs. Pentreddle, my own sister; poor dear Martha is dead!"
"Dead!" Patricia felt her weary legs give way with sheer terror.
"Dead!" repeated Mrs. Sellars, weeping. "Murdered! Oh, dear! oh, dear!"
"Dead! Murdered!" Patricia echoed the words faintly, then fell unconscious at the feet of the weeping, distracted old actress.
"Why did you go out? Where have you been? Martha is dead--murdered!" she babbled incoherently.
[CHAPTER III]
AFTERWARDS
Patricia recovered her senses to find that she was lying on her own bed, in her own room. Beside her sat fat Mrs. Sellars, with many restoratives, and with a look of anxiety on her tearful face. When Miss Carrol opened her eyes and asked vaguely where she was, Ma uttered an exclamation of pleasure and thankfulness.