This was Richard’s explanation, which Andy thought a mighty funny reason for his brother’s coming at midnight, and frightening them so terribly.  But his mother saw things differently.  She knew there was something underlying all this—­something which would require all her skill and energy to meet—­and her face was almost as white as Richard’s as she asked, “Why do you think she has gone to Mrs. Amsden’s?”

“You told me so, didn’t you?” and Richard looked up at her in a bewildered, helpless way, which showed that all he knew upon the Amsden question was what she had said herself, and that was hardly enough to warrant a conclusion of any kind.

“Was there any reason why Ethelyn should go away?” she asked next, and Richard’s head dropped, and his eyes were cast down in shame, as he replied: 

“Yes; we—­quar—.  We differed, I mean, the night before I went away, and I kept her from the masquerade, I would not let her go.  I locked the door, and now she has gone—­gone to Mrs. Amsden’s.”

He persisted in saying that, as if he would fain make himself believe it against his better judgment.

“What is it all about?  What does it mean?” Andy asked in great perplexity; and his mother answered for Richard: 

“It means just this, as far as I can see:  Ethelyn has got mad at Richard for keepin’ her in, which he or’to have done long ago, and so, with her awful temper she has run away.”

Mrs. Markham had defined it at last—­had put into words the terrible thing which had happened, the disgrace which she saw coming upon them; and with this definition of it she, too, defined her own position with regard to Ethelyn, and stood bristling all over with anger and resentment, and ready to do battle for her son against the entire world.

“Mother! mother!” Andy gasped, and his face was whiter than Richard’s.  “It is not true.  Ethie never went and done that—­never!  Did she, Dick?  Tell me!  Speak!  Has Ethie run away?”

Andy was down on one knee now, and looking into Richard’s face with a look which would almost have brought Ethie back could she have seen it.  Andy had faith in her, and Richard clung to him rather than to the mother in denouncing her so bitterly.

“I don’t know, Andy,” he said, “I hope not.  I think not.  She must have gone to Mrs. Amsden’s.  We will wait till morning and see.”

The sound of voices had aroused both James and John, who, half-dressed, came down to inquire what had happened, and why Dick was there at that unseemly hour of the night.  James’ face was very pale as he listened, and when his mother spoke of the disgrace which would come upon them all, his hard fists were clenched for a moment, while he thought of Melinda, and wondered if with her it would make any difference.  Both James and John had liked Ethelyn, and as the temper about which their mother talked so much had never been exhibited to them, they were inclined even now