“No nonsense, Josiah,” cried Mrs Lavington. “I felt a presentiment.”
“Felt a stuff and nonsense!” he said angrily. “Kitty not in her room? Kitty not been to bed? Here, Jessie!”
“Yes, sir.”
“You did go to sleep, didn’t you?”
“Ye–e–e–s, sir!”
“I thought as much, and,”—here tut-tut-tut—“that would not explain it. Hullo, what do you want?”
This was to the cook, who tapped, opened the door, and then held up her hand as if to command silence.
“Please, ’m, would you mind coming here?” she said softly. Mrs Lavington ran to the door, followed the woman across the hall, unaware of the fact that the old merchant was close at her heels.
They paused as soon as they were inside the drawing-room, impressed by the scene before them, for there, half sitting, half lying, and fast asleep, with the tears on her cheeks still wet, as if she had wept as she lay there unconscious, was Kitty, for the bricks on the opposite wall had been too indistinct for her to see.
“Don’t wake her,” said Uncle Josiah softly, and he signed to them to go back into the hall, where he turned to Jessie.