I wish," she added, with that love of evil presage which is common in the lower ranks, "that Miss Clara may be well, for I never knew her sleep so sound." Mowbray jumped from the chair into which he had thrown himself, ran through the gallery, and knocked smartly at his sister's door; there was no answer.

"Clara, dear Clara!--Answer me but one word--say but you are well.

I frightened you last night--I had been drinking wine--I was violent--forgive me!--Come, do not be sulky--speak but a single word--say but you are well." He made the pauses longer betwixt every branch of his address, knocked sharper and louder, listened more anxiously for an answer; at length he attempted to open the door, but found it locked, or otherwise secured.
"Does Miss Mowbray always lock her door ?" he asked the girl.
"Never knew her to do it before, sir; she leaves it open that I may call her, and open the window-shutters." She had too good reason for precaution last night, thought her brother, and then remembered having heard her bar the door.
"Come, Clara," he continued, greatly agitated, "do not be silly; if you will not open the door, I must force it, that's all; for how can I tell but that you are sick, and unable to answer ?--if you are only sullen, say so .-- She returns no answer," he said, turning to the domestic, who was now joined by Touchwood.
Mowbray's anxiety was so great, that it prevented his taking any notice of his guest, and he proceeded to say, without regarding his presence, "What is to be done ?--she may be sick--she may be asleep--she may have swooned; if I force the door, it may terrify her to death in the present weak state of her nerves .-- Clara, dear Clara! do but speak a single word, and you shall remain in your own room as long as you please." There was no answer.

Miss Mowbray's maid, hitherto too much fluttered and alarmed to have much presence of mind, now recollected a back-stair which communicated with her mistress's room from the garden, and suggested she might have gone out that way.
"Gone out," said Mowbray, in great anxiety, and looking at the heavy fog, or rather small rain, which blotted the November morning,--"Gone out, and in weather like this!--But we may get into her room from the back-stair." So saying, and leaving his guest to follow or remain as he thought proper, he flew rather than walked to the garden, and found the private door which led into it, from the bottom of the back-stair above mentioned, was wide open.

Full of vague, but fearful apprehensions, he rushed up to the door of his sister's apartment, which opened from her dressing-room to the landing-place of the stair; it was ajar, and that which communicated betwixt the bedroom and dressing-room was half open.
"Clara, Clara!" exclaimed Mowbray, invoking her name rather in an agony of apprehension, than as any longer hoping for a reply.