ever lived, he knew what fear was now. The father's courage
failed him before the prospect of summoning a servant, and
hearing, for all he knew to the contrary, that his child was
dead.

How long he stood there, alone and irresolute, he never
remembered when he thought of it in after-days. All he knew was
that there came a time when a sound in the drawing-room attracted
his attention. It was nothing more important than the opening of
a door.

The sound came from that side of the room which was nearest to
the grand staircase--and therefore nearest also to the hall in
one direction, and to the bed-chambers in the other.

Some person had entered the room. Whether it was one of the
family or one of the servants, he would hear in either case what
had happened in his absence. He parted the curtains over the
library entrance, and looked through.

The person was a woman. She stood with her back turned toward the
library, lifting a cloak off a chair. As she shook the cloak out
before putting it on, she changed her position. He saw the face,
never to be forgotten by him to the last day of his life. He saw
Sydney Westerfield.



Chapter XXI.