"Afraid?" said Margaret, innocently. "Afraid of what?"
"Of bats! When they squeak, I desire to pass away."
"Mr. Merryweather!"
"If you call me Mr. Merryweather any more, I shall pass away, without benefit of buckets. Say Gerald! just try it, and see how pretty it sounds. Gerald! 'tis a melting mouthful! Sentimental, if you will, but what then?"
Margaret laughed in spite of herself. "I must say, as Frances did, I never see such a bold boy since born I was!" she said. "Well, Gerald, then; and now, Gerald, here we are at the house, and would you please go round the north way, and not come into the library just now? Thank you ever so much for helping me! No, I must go in, I truly must."
Mrs. Peyton was sitting bolt upright on the sofa on which they had laid her. Her face was absolutely colorless; it might have been an ivory statue, but for the ghastly look of the blue eyes. She fixed her eyes on Margaret, but said nothing. Margaret ran to her, and put her arms round her. "Oh, how could they leave you alone?" she cried. "She is safe; every one is safe, dear Mrs. Peyton. No one hurt, only Jenny overcome with the smoke a little. I thought Jean would have told you."
The ivory figure began to tremble. With shaking hands she tried to put Margaret away from her; then, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, she clung to her and burst into tears.
"I sent them away!" she whispered through her sobs. "I would not have them look at me. Margaret—are you sure? that girl, is she truly safe?"
"Truly and honestly, dear Mrs. Peyton. It was a most marvellous escape, but she is absolutely unharmed, and she saved another life beside her own. But for Grace, poor little Jenny must have been lost. She is a heroine, our Grace!"