Durrance drew himself up straight and stood quite motionless and silent, like a man who had suffered a shock and is bewildered. He passed his hand across his forehead once or twice, and then, without calling upon Ethne again, he advanced to the open window.
Mrs. Adair did not move, and she held her breath. There was just the width of the sill between them. The moonlight struck full upon Durrance, and she saw a comprehension gradually dawn in his face that some one was standing close to him.
"Ethne," he said a third time, and now he appealed.
He stretched out a hand timidly and touched her dress.
"It is not Ethne," he said with a start.
"No, it is not Ethne," Mrs. Adair answered quickly. Durrance drew back a step from the window, and for a little while was silent.
"Where has she gone?" he asked at length.
"Into the garden. She ran across the terrace and down the steps very quickly and silently. I saw her from my chair. Then I heard you speaking alone."
"Can you see her now in the garden?"
"No; she went across the lawn towards the trees and their great shadows. There is only the moonlight in the garden now."