He had laid down his book almost immediately, remembering that he had some letters to write, and had come up to his apartments in search of one he wished to answer.
It was already dark, except for the light of a young moon, but by some oversight of the servants the lamps had not yet been lighted here.
He was feeling about for matches, when hearing approaching footsteps he stepped behind the curtain and waited to see who the intruder was.
He recognized Meta's form and movements, and sure that no legitimate errand had brought her there at that time, resolved to give her a fright.
Tearing down the hall, Meta suddenly encountered her mother, who, coming up to her own apartments, had reached the head of the stairs just in time to witness Meta's exit from those of Mr. Lilburn.
"Oh I'm so frightened! so frightened, mamma!" cried the child, throwing herself into her mother's arms.
"As you richly deserve to be," said Mrs. Carrington, taking her by the hand and leading her into her dressing-room. "What were you doing in Mr. Lilburn's apartments?"
Meta hung her head in silence.
"Speak, Meta; I will have an answer," her mother said, with determination.
"I wasn't doing any harm; only putting away something that belonged there."