“Too bad the sofa could not be made to do the same!” bewailed a housemaid, picking up the pieces of wood and batting and brocade.

Edmund was in grim spirits. His hurt was minimal, mostly the wind having knocked out of him. But he said, “Is the monster gone, Fanny? Oh, what are we to do?”

“He is gone indeed, dearest cousin, I am sure of it,” replied Fanny, fussing with the front of his scratched shirt where there were seeping sanguine spots.

“Oh, Fanny! But—is he vanquished?”

Fanny stopped. She thought and wondered, but somehow had no answer even for her own self. “That, I do not know.”

“The we must find out! And soon! There is no moment to lose, the Curse must be eradicated!”

“I believe it is safe to surmise that we are out of danger at present,” said Mr. Crawford. “Now then—” and he carefully stepped over a puddle of supper buffet and mummy sand remains on the parquet floor—“The night is late even for myself, and I strongly suggest Miss Price indeed heed her uncle’s excellent advice from some half hour earlier and retire for the evening. We will take it from here, Miss Price, you need have no worry on anyone’s part.”

“He is quite right, dear sister!” said William, coming up to them in the meanwhile. He was breathing fast but in raging high spirits, and his already hale complexion was definitely the better for it after having done the vigorous exercise, the happy battle-exertion. “Go rest, Fanny! Oh, want a splendid ball you’ve had for your coming out! Upon my word, Fanny, this has been the best assembly ever! Never have I had such a grand old time at a silly dance!” And William sheathed his sword merrily. Kissing his sister on the cheek lightly, and promising to see her in a very few hours (for it was near dawn), he headed out, this time without any other complications to interrupt him.

“Go, Fanny. Fear not, I am perfectly uninjured. And he is quite right,” repeated Edmund.

Her mind still in a whirlwind, Fanny nodded quietly, and made her real adieus this time.

Thus, indeed, it was time—to pass quietly away; stopping at the entrance-door, like the Lady of Branxholm Hall, “one moment and no more,” to view the happy and ultimately terrible scene of Bedlam, and take a last look at the five or six determined guests who were still reeling and putting themselves together after the battle before fleeing the premises, and the genuine unmummified servants hard at work picking up and sweeping away the damages.