'It is time for Estelle to be in bed,' remarked Lady Coke, at last. 'I am surprised that Mrs. De Bohun has kept her so late. Has Nurse gone for her?'
'Oui, madame; more than an hour ago.'
'Nine o'clock is very late for young children to be up. Will you kindly ring the bell? I will send James to bring her back without further delay.'
Mademoiselle offered to go herself, but Lady Coke insisted on dispatching James. He was her factotum, in whom she had greater faith than in any member of her household. His calm manner, which nobody had ever seen ruffled, suited her and she felt quite safe when a matter was in his hands. If Estelle needed any protection—which was not likely in their own grounds—he would be the right person to send. Having given her orders, Lady Coke felt more comfortable, each moment expecting to hear Estelle's merry voice. She sat listening unconsciously. Time, however, slipped on without bringing either James or Nurse. When, finally, ten o'clock struck, she stood up, pale but determined.
'Mademoiselle,' she said, her voice as low as ever, though her anxiety could be detected in its quiver, 'will you please send me my maid, with my garden-hat and cloak? I am going to Begbie Hall myself. You will kindly accompany me. Something must be strangely wrong.'
At that moment the sound of a man's step on the gravel under the windows made her pause, listening eagerly for the child's light tread. The steps came up the verandah, and Colonel De Bohun appeared in the open casement. Without a moment's delay he went up to his aunt, putting an arm tenderly round her. One glance at his pale face was sufficient.
'Godfrey, what is it?'
She was trembling, so that without support she could not have stood.
'Sit down, dear Aunt, and let me tell you,' he said, with more calmness than he felt.
He greatly dreaded the effect of his communication. Though she was always cheerful, active, and upright, he could not forget that she was old, and that any shock might be disastrous to her.