When Elaine brought back her head into the room, the window was closed, Mr. Nash had vanished; the young lady was in such a state of palpitation, that for some seconds she was incapable of continuing the operation of packing, conscious though she was of how time was pressing. Half-an-hour is not long. She was not yet fully dressed; it seemed that now she was to dress to meet her lover, to elope with him; if she had known that before she would have arrayed herself in some quite different garments. There was no time to change now; it was out of the question. Really, there was not time even to finish packing properly; her things would have to be squashed in anyhow; if she could get them in at all she would have to be content. There was one comfort, she would buy herself an entirely new outfit when she had once got clear away. Herbert need not think--no one need think--that she was going to do without a trousseau; she was not. She was going to have a proper trousseau; a complete trousseau. Only it seemed that in her case the various articles would have to be purchased after marriage instead of before; but she would have them.  
While such thoughts chased themselves through her excited little head, she returned to the process of packing with still greater zeal than before. Cherished garments received unceremonious treatment; if they could have felt they would have wondered why their mistress was using them as she had never done before. Rolled up anyhow; squeezed in anywhere; no regard paid to frills or dainty trimmings; plainly Elaine's one and only desire was to get her things in somewhere, somehow. Yet as if it was not enough to have to pack against time, she was not allowed to pack in peace; she was doomed to interruption. Just as the first box seemed full as it could hold, and she was wondering if her weight would be enough to induce the hasp to meet the lock, there came a tapping at the bedroom door. The sound was to her an occasion of irritation; her voice suggested it.
 
"Now who's that?"
 
"It is I."
 
It was a voice she knew--at that moment it seemed to her--too well. So entirely was this young woman a creature of mood that there was only room in her for one mood at a time, and while that possessed her she forgot everything else; before she heard that voice she had forgotten Nora. And it was Nora who stood on the other side of the door. Elaine's selfish little soul shook with fear when the sound of the voice without recalled her friend's existence to her recollection.
 
"What am I to do?" was the question which instantly sprang up within her. She could scarcely put her off with an excuse now. Nora was probably at her wit's end; all the seas of trouble had been opened on her unprotected head. If ever there was a moment in which she was in need of friendly service it was this; unless some one held out to her a helping hand she might sink in the deep waters, never to rise again. In the box which she had just been packing was the money which Elaine had "found" on the study table; that huge sum which, of course, was Nora's. Here was a chance to show that, after all, she was not altogether the worthless wretch she had seemed to be. Should she?
 
No, she told herself, Herbert would not like it; then there was Morgan, and the trousseau, and the honeymoon; if she kept all the money she might have the kind of honeymoon of which she had so often dreamed; and--there were other things. All the uses she might have for the money crowded into her brain, treading on each other's heels. She dropped the lid and ran to the door.
 
"I'm awfully sorry, Nora, to keep you waiting, but----" She stopped, to stare. "Why, you've got your hat on; where are you going?"
 
Nora was dressed for travelling. It was Elaine's cue to be surprised at everything; she meant to be so surprised that the mere force of her surprise should drive all other things clean out of her. Nora came into the room.
 
"I see you are packing."
 
For a second Elaine was slightly embarrassed, but she quickly got over that.
 
"Yes, I've had a letter from papa this morning."
 
"A letter from your father?"
 
The calm eyes looked Elaine straight in the face. The girl turned away; the glib tongue began to reel off lies.
 
"Just now--I should think I ought to have had it yesterday; I don't know why I only had it to-day. He wants me to come home; of course he feels I'm frightfully in the way; and then it seems Polly has the scarlet fever, and Jennie looks as if she were sickening for it, and there are the other children, and papa has no one to help him--he can't afford a nurse; so you see I must go; the poor man writes as if he were half distracted."
 
"Of course you must go; and, perhaps, in a way it's as well you must, though I'm so sorry to hear about Polly and Jennie; but I'm afraid that in any case I should have had to ask you to go."
 
"Nora! Am I so much in the way as that?"
 
"It is not only you who are in the way; we both of us are, both you and me. Mr. Guldenheim and his friends have come, and, in consequence, I also am leaving Cloverlea."
 
"Nora! What do you mean?"
 
Nothing could have been more eloquent than the amazement on Elaine's face.
 
"You knew that they were going to sell everything to pay what it appears were my father's debts; well, it's come a little sooner than I expected, that's all."
 
"But where will you go? What will you do?"
 
"Something; don't fear. 'God's in His heaven, all's well with the world.' I don't doubt there's a place in it somewhere for me."
 
"Oh, Nora, if I could only take you home with me! But it's such a poor place, and so small; and now it's like a hospital, with all the children ill of that dreadful fever, and papa writing that he's nearly penniless; what do you think yourself?"
 
It was rather a neat way of passing on the responsibility.
 
"I think it's out of the question. With that poor father of yours already nearly borne down beneath his troubles, do you think I'd add to them? What I'm wondering is if you've enough money to take you home."
 
"Papa hasn't sent me any--I'm afraid he's none to send; but I've been reckoning--I've just enough, with a squeeze; but then I'm used to squeezing. Nora, I do hope you've plenty of money."
 
"I've enough to go on with. Can I help you with your packing?"
 
"The idea! As if I'd let you, you poor dear!"
 
"Then, Elaine, if you won't mind very much----"
 
Nora stopped, as if at a loss to find words with which to clothe her thoughts. Miss Harding was gushing.
 
"I shan't mind anything, my darling. What is it?"
 
"It--it's only, if you won't think me very unkind, that I'd--I'd like to catch a train which starts almost at once."
 
She was thinking, perhaps, of Dr. Banyard's promise to send his wife to talk to her, and desired to avoid that talking. Miss Harding leapt at the hint.
 
"And you want to get away immediately? And do you think I'd wish to stop you from doing anything you want to do?--you sweet! Good-bye, Nora, my darling! God bless you! I hope everything will turn out all right yet; I feel sure it will; it's bound to. And mind you write!"
 
"I will--when I am settled."
 
"And what address will find you?"
 
"I'll let you know that also, when I'm settled."
 
So they parted, with fond embraces, many kisses, words of endearment, tears in their eyes. Nora's heart was very full, and Elaine felt hers ought to be. So soon as Nora had left the room Elaine banged her foot against the floor; clapped her hands together with such violence that she actually stung her tender palms, and cried--
 
"What a little beast I am! what a little beast!"
 
Then, instantly, she resumed her packing, remembering that the trap was coming in less than half-an-hour, but not with quite so much zest as b............