As she listened to this letter Priscilla thought she should have fainted with fright. Policemen! and prison! and Loveday perhaps with handcuffs on, and oh, so frightened! She looked with a white face and terrified eyes at her mother, who was still holding the red cloak, and, somehow, the sight of that made it all seem more dreadful.
“O father, what can we do?” she cried piteously. “Loveday shan’t go to prison; she mustn’t! She can’t have been naughty enough for that.”
But to her surprise her father, instead of being frightened and angry, looked almost as though he were amused about something—at least, until he glanced at Priscilla; but when he saw her white face, he grew grave at once.
“Don’t be foolish, darling,” he said, drawing her to him. “You surely aren’t really frightened. It cannot be anything very serious, or Bessie would have written too, or telegraphed; she wouldn’t have left it to Loveday to have told us all about a serious matter. I expect the truth of it is that Miss Loveday and Master Aaron have been up to some mischief, and some one—a Mr. Winter I think she calls him—has frightened them, or tried to, by talking about prison and police.”
Mrs. Carlyon, who had been lost in thought for some minutes, suddenly looked up.
“Mr. Winter!” she exclaimed. “Why, that is the name of that poor gentleman whose only son was drowned there, before his father’s eyes, some few years ago. He has shut himself up there ever since. Don’t you remember, dear?”
“Of course; yes, I remember now,” said the doctor, nodding his head thoughtfully. “A curious, morose old man. I met him once. I think it is his cottage that the Lobbs live in.”
All this time he was sitting with one arm round Priscilla, who stood very silent, with her head laid against her father’s shoulder, her face very white and troubled still. “It is all right, dear, I am sure,” he said, suddenly noticing how ill she looked; “don’t you worry about it.”
“But, father, do you think it is all right?” asked Priscilla, in a trembling voice.
“Oh yes,” said Dr. Carlyon cheerfully. “I haven’t a doubt. I think I will go and send a telegram to Bessie to say I will just run down to-morrow for the day,” he added; “then I shall know for certain what is amiss. And, what do you say? Shall I take Prissy with me, instead of waiting till next week? The change will be good for her, I think, and, at any rate, she will have Loveday under her eye, and know that the policeman has not got her locked up in a cell. While I am there I can look about for rooms, too, for the rest of us. Don’t you think those are very nice plans, little woman?”—turning to Priscilla. “You would like to go down with me to-morrow, wouldn’t you, and help look for rooms for mother and Geoffrey?”