"Shouldn't have tried to make the poor girl marry a man that she did not care a curse for."

"Oh, but, Tom, Tom!" sobbed Tryphie, "this is too dreadful."

"Stuff!" cried Tom. "I'll be bound to say that you were in the secret."

"Indeed, no," cried Tryphie, reproachfully. "I did not know a word. I had left her in her room, as I thought, to dress, and when I went to fetch her because dinner was waiting she was gone."

"Tell him, Justine, for mercy's sake tell him," wailed her ladyship.

"Yes, poor milady, I will," said the Frenchwoman. "Miss Tryphie knocked many time, and I ascend the stairs then, and she say she begin to be alarmed that mademoiselle was ill. We enter then togezzer, and we find--"

"Nothing," said Tom, coolly.

"Oh, no, monsieur, all her beautiful dresses, ze trousseau magnifique, lying about the room, but she is not there. Then I recollect that I see somebody pa.s.s down ze stair, in a black cloak and veil, but I take no notice then, though I think now it must have been my young lady."

"But you knew she was going," said Tom, gazing straight into her eyes, which only shone a little brighter, for they did not shrink.

"I know, monsieur?" she replied. "I know, I come straight to tell milady of ze outrage against ze honour of her family. _Parole d'honneur_ no, I know nozing as ze lil _bebe_ which come not to be born."

This was said at a tremendous pace, and with a very strong French accent, for, as Mademoiselle Justine grew excited, so did she forget her good English, and began to return towards the language of the land of her birth.

"What's been done?" said Tom, shortly.

"Aunt sent directly for Mr Hurkle, and then Sir Grantley went after him as well."

"Curse Mr Hurkle," cried Tom, and he hurried out of the room, and dashed, two steps at a time, downstairs, and nearly tumbled over one of the footmen, who looked quite scared.

"You're always in the way," cried Tom, savagely, and he dashed into the library, where he found Lord Barmouth busy with trembling hands examining a very old pair of flintlock duelling pistols.

"Hallo, dad!" cried Tom, "none of that. You're not tired of life?"

"No, no, my son," said the old gentleman; "damme, no, Tom, though it does get very hard sometimes. Tom, my boy, I'm going to find him out and shoot him."

Tom slammed down the lid of the case, and pushed the old gentleman unresistingly back into an easy-chair.

"Now, look here, gov'nor, let's talk sense," he cried.

"Yes, my dear boy, I--I--I'm doosed glad you've come. We will--we will."

"It's true then, gov'nor, that poor Maude has bolted?"

"Well, yes, my boy, I don't think there's a doubt about it."

"Then that's all your fault, gov'nor," said Tom.

"My dear boy, don't you turn upon me and bully me too. I--I--I've lost my poor little girl, and I--I--I can't bear much. It's such a disgrace.

I know I ought to have stood up for her more, Tom, my boy, but her ladyship is so very strong-minded, you know."

"Yes, I know," said Tom. "She was too much for both of us, gov'nor.

Well, it's no use to fret about it that I see. The little filly's taken the bit in her teeth, topped the hedge, and away she's gone. And she so sly over it too!"

"She was very sorry to go, Tom, I'm sure. She was in such trouble to-day."

"Yes," said Tom, quietly, "we ought to have suspected something. How about old Wilters?"

"He's nearly mad, my boy. He has--has--has been running round--round the drawing-room like--like--like--"

"A cat on hot bricks, father."

"Yes, my son. He's furious--he's going to kill him."

"Yes, of course," said Tom, grinning. "I should like to see him do it."

"But--but--but, Tom, my boy, don't take it quite so coolly."

"Why not, father? Hallo? who's this, eh? Oh, of course," he said, "here are the women now."

For her ladyship came in leaning upon Tryphie's arm, to immediately shriek and fall back in a chair.

"Oh, Tom! oh, Tom," she cried, "I shall never survive. The disgrace-- the disgrace."

"Nonsense. Here, father, Tryphie, Maude has gone off with Charley Melton, I suppose?"

"No, no, no!" shrieked her ladyship. "Oh, horror, horror, horror!"

"Tryphie, cork her mouth with a handkerchief, or they'll hear her across the street. Here, father, what's the row. Charley Melton, eh?"

"No--no--no, my dear boy," stammered Lord Barmouth, "I--I--I--damme, though her ladyship's here, I say it in her presence, I wish she had.

It's too dreadful to tell."

"My G.o.d, father!" cried Tom, excitedly, as he turned pale, and the cold sweat stood upon his forehead, for like a flash came upon him the recollection of his sister's words that day, and brought up such a picture of horror before his eyes, that he trembled like a leaf. "Don't say--don't tell me--"

He could not finish, but stood panting, and gazing at the horror-stricken face of his mother.

"No, my boy, I won't if you don't want me to," said the old man, feebly; "but it's--it's--such a terrible disgrace."

"Father," faltered Tom, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, "has she--has she drowned herself?"

"Oh, no, my boy, no--no--no," cried the old man, with the tears streaming down his cheeks. "She has eloped under disgraceful circ.u.mstances."

"Not with one of the servants, father?" cried Tom.

"No, no, my boy, worse than that."

"Hang it, father," cried Tom, savagely, "there is no worse, without she has gone off with a sweep."

"Yes, yes, my boy," cried the old man. "She has gone off with an organ-grinder and a monkey!"

"Which?" roared Tom, seizing the poker; "it isn't murder to kill an ape."