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With a jerk Mavis freed herself. “Indeed I must—”

At the same moment the door opened and Lady Laura looked into the room.

“I have been waiting for you for quite a quarter of an hour, nurse,” she said in a distinctly aggrieved tone. “If anything prevented your coming you ought at least to have sent me word. I told my daughter—Mavis! You are here still! Where is Nurse?” glancing round in surprise.

“I don’t know. She left to come to you, mother. She —Hilda is better; she has been talking to me.”

Lady Laura stepped up to the bedside and smiled reassuringly into the eyes raised imploringly to her.

“I am so glad you are better, my dear,” she said in a cheery, comfortable fashion. “But you ought to have something now. Mavis, give me that glass. Ah, that is right!” with a confidence born of experience as the girl swallowed a few drops of the champagne. “Now if you can get some sleep, my dear, I think it will be the best thing for you. What is this you say about Nurse Marston, Mavis—that she left here to come to me? Poor thing, she must have gone into the wrong room, and I dare say is abusing me for keeping her from her patient all this time!” with a laugh. She rang the bell. “Oh, Minnie! Find Nurse Marston and tell her that I am here, and ask her to come up. She must have gone into some other room.”

Minnie looked puzzled.

“I showed her the small library myself, my lady. I had been helping Lady Davenant with her cloak. I came out as Nurse Marston passed and I went as far as the bend in the passage with her and pointed out the door.”

“Then she must have mistaken you,” Lady Laura decided easily, “and you will find her in one of the adjoining rooms. Be as quick as you can, Minnie.”

“Yes, my lady,” and the girl hurried off.

Lady Laura turned to Mavis.

“Now, Mavis, it is time you were in bed, or you will lose your beauty sleep. Come, I will stay with Hilda”—and she smiled at the girl—“until Nurse Marston comes.”

Mavis glanced at Hilda’s white face, at the suspiciously bright eyes in which there lay no shadow of sleep, and then, moved by some sudden impulse, she leaned over and kissed the girl.

“Good night, dear, and sleep well!”

Outside in the passage she encountered Minnie.

“Oh, Miss Mavis, has the nurse come back?” she began excitedly. “I can’t find her anywhere. She isn’t anywhere downstairs, as far as I can see.”

Mavis looked perplexed for a moment, then her face brightened up.

“I dare say she is in her room. Perhaps she is not well.” She tapped at the door, which was left ajar, but there was no response, and a glance was sufficient to show them that the room was untenanted.

Minnie looked troubled.

“I can’t think where she can be, Miss Mavis. I have been everywhere downstairs except in the billiard-room and the smoking-room, and not a sign of her can I find. If her lady—”

The door of the invalid’s room opened noiselessly, and Lady Laura herself looked out.

“Is Nurse there? I want to—”

“My lady, I can’t find her anywhere!” Minnie burst out.

But signing to her to be silent, Lady Laura came into the passage.

“What do you say, Minnie—you cannot find her? Have you looked in the morning-room? She has probably turned in there in mistake for the small library.’’

“I have been in all those rooms, my lady, and she isn’t there. I can’t think where she can have got to. And she was that anxious to speak to you, my lady! ‘‘

For a moment Lady Laura looked vaguely disturbed, then she smiled at Minnie’s evident perturbation.

“Well, I don’t suppose she is lost, Minnie,’’ she said cheerfully. “Probably she did not feel well, and is sitting down quietly somewhere; but I think I will just go down and speak to Mrs. Parkyns, and look into the rooms myself, and I think we must turn you into a nurse for the time being, Minnie. Be sure you let me know as soon as Nurse Marston comes back.’’

“Yes, my lady.’’ But the girl still looked uneasy and worried.

Mavis followed Lady Laura and tucked her hand under her arm.

“I am coming with you, mother dear. Yes, really you must let me,” as Lady Laura began to remonstrate. “Indeed, I could not sleep until we have found the nurse and heard what she has to say. Isn’t Hilda perfectly lovely, mother? Much prettier than we thought her last night.”

“She is very beautiful,” Lady Laura said abstractedly. “I fancy that Nurse Marston wished to speak to me about her. Perhaps she has discovered some clue to her identity. Ah, here is Parkyns!” as that functionary appeared, looking portly and important in her rich black silk. “Well, Parkyns, have you seen anything of Nurse Marston yet?”

“No, my lady,” the housekeeper replied with dignity. “Where the young woman can have put herself I can’t imagine. We have looked all over the bottom part of the house ourselves, me and Mr. Jenkins, as soon as Minnie said she couldn’t be found, and one of the maids has been upstairs. It really doesn’t seem as if she could be in the house.”

Lady Laura felt bewildered.

“It is impossible that she can have gone out at this time of night without telling anyone!” she exclaimed. “You are sure she is not downstairs, you say, Parkyns?”

“Quite sure, my lady! Leastways, we have been in every room except the smoking-room. Sir Arthur is there.”

Lady Laura pondered a moment; then she turned down the passage leading to the smoking-room and opened the door. Sir Arthur was lying back on the lounge, his feet on a chair and his head thrown back as he lazily watched the rings of smoke curling up to the ceiling from his cigar.

He sprang up in surprise when he saw his mother, with Mavis clinging to her arm and Mrs. Parkyns bringing up the rear.

“Why, mother, what is it? What has happened? Has there been a change for the worse?”

“No, no! Nothing of that kind,” Lady Laura said quickly, with an indefinable feeling of unrest as she noted the trend his anxiety had taken. “It is only that—have you by any chance seen Nurse Marston?”

Arthur stared.

“Seen Nurse Marston? My dear mother, no! Why, what do you mean? Is she lost?”

“Oh, no!” Lady Laura said helplessly. “Only we can’t find her.”

Arthur laughed.

“Seems much about the same thing, doesn’t it? How does it come about? Has she left her patient?”

“She was to come to me—” Lady Laura began.

“She left me with Hilda,” Mavis interjected, “and said she should not be away long.”

“She was particularly anxious to see her ladyship, Sir Arthur,” Parkyns added. “Sent Minnie down to me to get a letter to her ladyship before dinner, she did. We can’t see daylight in the matter, me and Mr. Jenkins can’t.”

Arthur looked from one to the other in utter amazement as they mentioned further particulars; the story appeared to him improbable in the extreme, and he was inclined to ridicule it.

“Oh, well, she can’t be far off, that’s certain!” he cried in a tone of raillery as he turned to accompany them. “We must have a general search. She wouldn’t be likely to take offence at anything and go home in a hurry, I suppose?”

Jenkins joined them now, lamp in hand.

“I have been in some of the rooms as are not in general use, Sir Arthur,” he said apologetically, “thinking the young woman might have got in there by mistake, though it don’t seem likely. But, begging your pardon, I couldn’t help hearing what you were saying to her ladyship, Sir Arthur, and I can answer for it the nurse hasn’t gone home, nor nothing of that sort, for all the doors are fastened same as I did them myself before dinner, as her ladyship bade me, all except the big doors, that is to say, and them I fastened as soon as the company was gone, and I was in the hall myself with James seeing after the coats and things till then. No, she is in the house, Sir Arthur, you may take it from me.”

“Oh, well, then she will soon be found,” Arthur decided cheerfully. “One of us will go in search of her one way and one another. It will be a regular hide-and-seek business. I really think that there ought to be some sort of prize for the one that finds, what do you say to that, mother?”

Lady Laura did not echo his laugh; her face was unwontedly pale, her dark eyes looked frightened.

“I do not know what to think,” she said unsteadily. “I don’t feel quite comfortable about it really, Arthur!”

“No more do I, my lady,” chimed in Parkyns obsequiously. “If the young woman has been taken ill, or—”

“Well, we will soon find her,” concluded Arthur, to whom the affair appeared rather a joke. “Here is Dorothy in time to join the search”—as the girl, her white peignoir thrown hastily on and her long fair hair floating over her shoulders, came to the top of the staircase, drawing back hastily as she saw the little group below—“or do you bring us news of the runaway, Dorothy?” he went on, raising his voice.

“What runaway?” Dorothy asked. “I don’t know what you mean. I thought I heard Aunt Laura’s voice and nobody came when I rang. I was so frightened by that shriek that when I heard people moving I came to see what it was all about.”

“What shriek? What did you hear?” asked Arthur rapidly, while Lady Laura and Mavis turned pale, and Parkyns, with a murmured “Heaven save us!” threw up her hands.

Dorothy was not inclined to explain.

“Oh, it was nothing! I dare say I fancied it,” she murmured as Arthur put his foot on the stairs and she quickened her steps down the corridor. “It—it was silly of me to be frightened, that’s all.”

“One moment, dear,” and, putting her son back with one hand, Lady Laura hurried after the girl. “Wait a moment, Dorothy. What was it you heard exactly, and when?”

Arthur and Mavis were following their mother, and Mrs. Parkyns was pantingly bringing up the rear.

“It was just after I came upstairs, Aunt Laura. You know I was a little early, and I was alone, sitting before my glass thinking over different things, when I heard a cry—a sort of muffled, choking scream, that was all—but it made me feel just a little nervous. I waited some time, thinking that Mavis would be sure to come in on her way up for a chat; but she did not, and at last I rang for Celestine; and then, as she did not answer and I could hear that you were moving about and talking—I heard you speak, Aunt Laura—I came out just to see if there was anything wrong. What is it really?”

“We cannot find Nurse Marston,” Lady Laura continued in reply to Dorothy’s question. “Arthur, I cannot understand it,” as her son joined them and Dorothy entered her room. “What could it have been that Dorothy heard?”

“Where is Dorothy sleeping?” Arthur answered her question by another and his face was grave.

“Over—over the small library,” Lady Laura said, with a quiver in her usually clear, full tones. “Arthur, you do not think that any harm has happened to her—to Nurse Marston?”

“In the house? Not likely!” Arthur said reassuringly. “I was thinking—I suppose nobody knows whether Nurse Marston was subject to fits”—raising his voice—“or anything of that kind? I have heard they go off with a scream.”

“If she had been, Sir Arthur, she would hardly have been fit for her work at the hospital, I should say,” Mrs. Parkyns submitted respectfully.

“Didn’t Garth tell us she had severed her connection with the hospital?” Sir Arthur demanded. “Ah”—as his mother made a gesture of assent—“you may depend upon it that accounts for it! She has had an attack somewhere or other, and is hors de combat for the time being. Garth ought not to have sent us such a person, I think.”

“Arthur,” interposed Mavis, looking by no means reassured by this easy fashion of disposing of things, “supposing that Nurse Marston did have a fit while she was waiting for mother, where is she now? Minnie and Parkyns have looked through all the rooms.”

For a moment Arthur was nonplussed.

“It seems to me she must have been trying to avoid them,” he decided at last. “It is a queer sort of business altogether. I shall go down to the small library and take a good look round myself.”

“That will be no use,” Lady Laura said decidedly.” My dear Arthur, do you forget that I sat waiting for her in that room for more than a quarter of an hour before I made any inquiry at all? Wherever she may be, it is assuredly not there. I did think it was possible that she had lost her way, but—”

“We will go through to the bottom part of the house,” Sir Arthur said after an almost imperceptible pause, “and as soon as we have thoroughly satisfied ourselves that she is not in any one room the door shall be locked. Come, Jenkins! Mother, you and the girls had better go to bed. I will bring you word as soon as we find her.”

“My dear, do you think it would be possible for me to rest until we know something more definite?” Lady Laura asked reproachfully. “I am coming with you now.”

The green baize door leading to the kitchen part of the house was standing open; contrary to rule, and close to it the servants were assembled in quite a crowd, looking bewildered and mystified as they gossiped over Nurse Marston’s disappearance. For once their presence there passed without rebuke from Mrs. Parkyns, whose nerves were, as she phrased it, “quite overset” for the time being.

“Has anyone seen anything of Nurse Marston?” Sir Arthur demanded, pausing.

There was a moment’s silence, followed by a medley of negatives, in the midst of which the head housemaid’s voice made itself heard:

“We have been in every room on the first and second floor, Sir Arthur, but there isn’t as much as a sign of her.”

“It is quite evident that I shall have to look for her myself,” Sir Arthur said, with an attempt to laugh that ended in a failure. Truth to tell, the affair was beginning to puzzle him more than he would have cared to confess, and his face, as he turned down the passage leading to the small library, wore a distinctly uneasy expression.

There was a general move to follow him, but he held up his hand.

“Not every one, please! You, Jenkins—and Parkyns. Mother, if you could persuade Mavis to go to Dorothy—”

“Yes, Mavis dear, and see how that poor thing is getting on. Take care she suspects nothing of this, or she will be very upset.”

Somewhat unwillingly, Mavis obeyed, and Lady Laura joined her son.

“The morning-room first, Arthur. You have not turned the lights off, I hope, Jenkins? Really, this search is making me feel quite creepy.”

“No, my lady,” the butler responded. “As soon as Minnie told me the nurse couldn’t be found, and that it was your ladyship’s wish that she should be looked for, I concluded that it would be better that the lights should be left on.”

“Quite right, Jenkins,” Sir Arthur assented as he threw open the door of the morning-room and looked in.

Certainly there was no trace of the missing nurse to be seen in the cheerful, modern-looking room with its bright fire, its carefully-shaded lights and pretty bright furniture. Nevertheless, the young man went in and looked under the big Chesterfield, behind the heavy velvet curtains and the heavier pieces of furniture.

“Nothing here—so much is certain. Now for the small library,” he said. “Lock this door, Jenkins. Nobody is in there now, and nobody shall go in there until I have finished looking round.”

The small library was at the end of the short passage out of which the morning-room opened. A door opposite to that of the latter room gave easy access to the still-room and the housekeeper’s apartments.

Sir Arthur touched the handle doubtfully.

“Could she have made a mistake, gone through here and got bewildered among the passages at the back?” he debated.

“I could stake my oath she never came through there, Sir Arthur,” Mrs. Parkyns took the answer upon herself. “I was there in my room with the door open for above an hour just about that time.”

“Still, if you had your back to the door and she passed quickly,” Sir Arthur argued. “However”—as she sniffed displeased—“that can wait; every passage in the house will have to be looked through presently if we don’t find her.”

He went into the library; its severely plain furniture and book-lined walls afforded little scope for concealment of any kind. Sir Arthur glanced under the table, and then moved towards the door at the other end of the room, stumbling over some small object on the floor.

“Hallo! What is this?” he exclaimed as he picked it up. “To whom does this belong?”

It was an ordinary tobacco-pouch with a spray of flowers worked across. Jenkins shook his head.

“I couldn’t say, Sir Arthur. Perhaps one of the gentlemen’s.”

“At any rate, I suppose Nurse Marston doesn’t smoke tobacco, so it has nothing to do with her,” and he threw it on the table.

The second door into the room led into the conservatory. It was standing ajar now, and Sir Arthur turned to it. “I say, mother, perhaps, thinking you were keeping her waiting a long time, she went through here to the drawing-room.”

Lady Laura stiffened perceptibly.

“She would hardly do that, Arthur, when I was engaged with my guests.

“Or she has gone for a walk. By Jove, I dare say that is the explanation of it all!” Arthur went on, improving his opportunity.

Jenkins stepped forward.

“If you will allow me, Sir Arthur-— No, I felt sure I was not mistaken; the door into the garden is bolted inside and locked. Her ladyship bade me always see that it was fastened at six o’clock, to prevent tramps getting in, and I don’t believe there has been a day that I have been a quarter of an hour late. She couldn’t have gone out this way, Sir! Arthur, without leaving the door open behind her.”

This argument was unanswerable, and with a cursory glance round the drawing-room Sir Arthur led his mother back to the hall.

“Do you see the time, mother?” he said glancing at the big clock at the foot of the stairs. “A quarter to two. Time you were in bed, or we shall be having you laid up. Jenkins and I will have another look round and then I shall turn in myself. One of the maids will sit up in the nurse’s place, I dare say.”

“I will myself, Sir Arthur,” volunteered Mrs. Parkyns. “It will be just the same to me, my lady. I shouldn’t get a wink of sleep if I went to bed, I know that.”

“I do not believe that I shall, either,” said Lady Laura, hesitating as her son bent to kiss her. “Arthur, where can she be? You don’t think anything has happened to her?”

“Happened to her, not it!” her son said reassuringly. “Don’t you get nervous, mother. She has gone out for a walk or something. Back to her mother’s in a huff, I dare say. Jenkins’ bolts and bars won’t convince me.”

Lady Laura looked somewhat comforted.

“Don’t you think it would be better to send to her mother, Arthur?”

“It might frighten the poor old thing into a fit,” her son said lightly, though over her head his eyes met the butler’s meaningly. “I will walk down the first thing in the morning, if you like. Good night, and don’t alarm yourself, mother.”

An hour later there was a light tap at Sir Arthur’s door. He opened it instantly.

“Any news?”

“No, Sir Arthur. Her mother has not seen her since she came up, and is sure she had no intention of leaving.”

“Um! The mystery thickens! What do you make of it yourself, Jenkins? Is it possible that there is a young man in the question?”

The butler glanced away from his master’s face into the lighted room beyond.

“I never heard of one, Sir Arthur. The Marstons have always been folks to keep themselves to themselves. I have been wondering”—he flicked a speck carefully from his immaculate waistcoat—“whether it would not be as well for me just to go over and speak to Mr. Davenant first thing in the morning.”

“Why Mr. Davenant?”

“Well, sir, he—they have always been great friends, Sir Arthur—was talking to her in the avenue this afternoon for some time. It is possible that she gave him some hint of her intentions, sir.”

There was a pause. Then Sir Arthur said as he turned to close the door:

“I do not think that is at all likely, Jenkins. Had Mr. Davenant known anything of the kind he would have informed us.”

The butler bowed.

“Naturally he would, Sir Arthur.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Sir Arthur.”