“It’s all right,” cried the girl, “she’ll be herself in a minute. Fetch a little water.”
Bayre looked round him once more, and an exclamation broke from his lips. The armchair in front of the fire, in which his uncle had sat huddled up, was empty.
Olwen looked round too and noted this fact, And her eyes met those of the young man.
“What is it? What does it mean?”
“Hush! she’ll be able to tell us in a minute. There’s something very strange under all this,” said he.
They could hear the noise of someone moving about in the small adjoining room where old Mr Bayre kept some of the most valuable of his curiosities, and they guessed that the old man himself was there, within hearing. So they said nothing more for a few minutes, until, indeed, the colour began to return to Miss Merriman’s face and she sat upright. Then she brushed them aside and looked towards the armchair.
“Where has she gone?” asked she in a hoarse voice.
Olwen and Bayre looked at each other, the girl growing suddenly paler, the young man too much mystified to speak.
“Where is she?” repeated Miss Merriman in a whisper.
“She!” stammered Olwen.