Vivienne followed her down the staircase. The house was intensely still. No other persons were stirring. When they reached the lowest hall Vivienne paused. “Mammy, I shall not go down there among those men. Do you go and bring me back news of what has happened.”
Mammy looked at her regretfully. “The Assyrians led by Ephraim bring reproach upon themselves. Only a princess of the house can warn and deliver.”
“I know what you mean,” said the girl proudly; “but I cannot be sensational. I will speak to your master. Now go and see if you can be of any use.”
She walked into the dining room, and the old servant carefully placing the lamp in the middle of the long table, left her alone.
There was a clock on the mantelpiece, and with a dull and heavy sense of apprehension Vivienne watched the hands scarcely moving over its face. Twenty, thirty, forty minutes passed, and still Mammy did not come.
At the end of that time there was a step in the hall and she hurried to the door to be confronted by Stanton Armour.
“Are you here, Vivienne?” he asked in a kind of subdued surprise.
“Yes,” and she anxiously scanned his gloomy, dispirited face.
“You had better go to bed. Why did you get up?”
“I had not gone to bed. I fell asleep by my window after I came home, and waked up when I heard Vincent coming for you.”