She smiled at him as he held her hand, but as she went up the stairs the

smile vanished, and, if it is ever possible for so beautiful a woman to

become suddenly plain, then Lady Luce's face achieved that

transformation.

Gnawing at her underlip, she entered her room, flung herself into a

chair, and beat a tattoo with her foot. The door opened softly, and

Burden stole in. She was very pale, there were dark marks under her

eyes, and she trembled so violently that the brushes rattled together as

she took them from the table.

Lady Luce looked up at her angrily.

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"What is the matter with you?" she demanded. "You look more like a ghost

than a human being, or as if you'd been drinking."

Burden winced under the insult, and stole behind her mistress' chair;

but Lady Luce faced round after her.

"You're not fit to do my hair, or anything else!" she said. "What is the

matter now? Your mother or one of your other relations, I suppose. You

always have some excuse or other for your whims and fancies."

"I--I am rather upset, my lady!" Burden responded, almost inaudibly.

"The--the robbery----"

"What does it concern you?" said Lady Luce sharply. "It is no affair of

yours; your business is to wait upon me, and if you can't or won't do it

properly----"

The brush fell from Burden's uncertain hand, and Lady Luce sprang to her

feet in a passion.

"Oh, go away! Get out of my sight!" she said contemptuously. "Go down to

the kitchen and tremble and shake with the other maids. I can't put up

with you to-night."

"I'm--I'm very sorry, my lady. I'm upset--everybody's upset."

"Oh, go--go!" broke in Lady Luce impatiently. "If you are not better

to-morrow, you'd better go for good!"

Burden stood for a moment uncertainly; then, with a stifled sob, left

the room, and went down the corridor toward the servants' apartments;

but halfway she stopped, hesitated, then descended the back stairs and

stole softly along one of the passages. A door from the smoking room

opened on to this passage, and against this she leaned and listened.

Sparling and the grooms who had joined in the pursuit of the burglars

had come back full of the chase and its results, and there was an

excited and dramatic recital going on in the servants' hall at that

moment; but she dared not go there, though she was in an agony of

anxiety to know the whole truth and the fate of her lover. Her face, her

overwrought condition, would have betrayed her; so, at the least, would

have caused surprise and aroused suspicion. She could not face the

servants' hall, but she knew that the gentlemen would be discussing the

affair in the smoking room, and that if she could listen unseen she

should hear what had happened to Ted. It was Ted, and nothing, no one

else she cared about.




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