Another might have stayed to allay the fever of her cheeks, to remove the traces of her tears, to stay the quivering of her hands; but such small cares were not for her, nor for the occasion.

She could form no idea of the length of time she had spent upstairs, a half-hour, or an hour and a half; and without more ado she raised the latch, slipped out, and turning the key on her patient ran down the upper flight of stairs.
She anticipated many things, but not that which she encountered--silence on the upper landing, and below when she had descended and opened the staircase door--an empty room.

The place was vacant; the tables were as she had left them, half laid; the pot was gently simmering over the fire.
What had happened?
The supper-hour was past, yet none of the four who should have sat down to the meal were here.

Had they overheard her mother's terrible cry--those words which voiced the woman's despair on finding, as she fancied, the city betrayed?
And were they gone to denounce her?
The thought was discarded as soon as formed; and before she could hit on a second explanation a hasty knocking on the door turned her eyes that way.
The four who lodged in the house were not in the habit of knocking, for the door was only locked at night when the last retired.

She approached it then, wondering, hesitated an instant, and at last, collecting her courage, raised the latch.