Then Miss Campbell bethought her of a story, the funniest she could remember, and began it.
Harry laughed for a time. But he soon grew suddenly silent.
He was fast asleep!
Meanwhile more and more stars came out, cushat’s croodle and song of bird gave place to the deep mournful notes of the brown owl, and the gloaming deepened into night.
Book One—Chapter Three.
The Search for the Lost Ones—an Ugly Fight.
Great was the anxiety at Beaufort Hall, as Harry’s home was called, when the shadows fell and the stars peeped out from the sky’s blue vault. Poor fragile Mrs Milvaine was almost distracted, but her husband took matters more easily, more philosophically let us call it.
“Don’t fidget, my darling,” he said, “they’ll turn up all right in a short time. Just you see now, and it won’t do the triflingest morsel of good to worry yourself. No, nor it won’t bring them a minute sooner.”