It came to pass that in the excitement the
old couple quite forgot Marjory. It was not until
Mrs. Wainwright, then feeling splendidly, was dressed
for dinner, that she thought to open Marjory's door
and go to render a usual motherly supervision of the
girl's toilet.
There was no light: there did not seem to be any-
body in the room. " Marjory ! " called the mother, in
alarm. She listened for a moment and then ran
hastily out again. " Harrison ! " she cried. " I can't
find Marjory!" The professor had been tying his
cravat. He let the loose ends fly. "What?" he
ejaculated, opening his mouth wide. Then they both
rushed into Marjory's room. "Marjory!" beseeched
the old man in a voice which would have invoked the
grave.
The answer was from the bed. "Yes?" It was
low, weary, tearful. It was not like Marjory. It was
dangerously the voice of a hcart-broken woman.
They hurried forward with outcries. "Why, Marjory!
Are you ill, child? How long have you been lying in
the dark? Why didn't you call us? Are you ill?"
" No," answered this changed voice, " I am not ill.
I only thought I'd rest for a time. Don't bother."
The professor hastily lit the gas and then father
and mother turned hurriedly to the bed. In the first
of the illumination they saw that tears were flowing
unchecked down Marjory's face.
The effect.of this grief upon the professor was, in
part, an effect of fear. He seemed afraid to touch it,
to go near it.
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