His face shadowed as his hands came against the unyielding door of the
house.
"Phil--" he faltered.
"Perhaps they haven't the telegram," Mr. Martin said. "We'll have to
wait around."
"They might be at the Maestro's," Kirk said suddenly. "Come--run
quick--I'll show you the way. There's a hole in the hedge--are you too
big to get through?"
"I think not," said the mate.
In the Maestro's library, Felicia leaned suddenly upon the piano. "Ken,"
she said, breathing hard, "something's going to happen--something!"
"What more can happen?" Ken said gently.
"But--oh, please! _Do_ something--I don't know--"
"Poor child!" murmured the Maestro. "Sit here, Felicia. Help her, Ken."
"I don't need help," said Phil. "Oh, you think I'm mad, I suppose. I'm
not. Ken--please go and look out--go to the house. Oh, Kirk!"
The Maestro shook his head and put a hand on Felicia's shoulder.
"Better go, Ken," he said quietly.
Kenelm stepped upon the terrace. Through the long window, which he left
open behind him, a joyous voice came quite clearly to the library.
"And this is the poor empty pool that I told you about, that never has
had any water in it since then--and aren't we at the terrace steps now?"
Felicia vowed afterward that she didn't faint. Yet she had no clear
recollection of seeing Kirk between the time when she saw him drop the
hand of the tall, strange man and run up the steps, and when they all
were standing around her in the library, looking a little grave.
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