"Are there two ways? The path across the marshes? General Villiers would not attempt that in such weather. The road, of course; and go as quickly as you can, please."
Then they waited again. Seven o'clock came; half past seven. Evelyn had the dinner put off till her husband should arrive; but she consented to take a glass of wine and a biscuit at Jean's urgent request. She had not dressed as usual. Jean could not; and Evelyn would not go upstairs.
Though pale, Evelyn was braver now—now when Jean began to feel that some cause for uneasiness really did exist. Suppose General Villiers had missed his way in the blinding snow? This was not absolutely impossible even on the high road. A false turn might have carried him far out of his route, before he discovered his mistake, and might mean some risk of chill for an elderly man. As for the footpath across the marshes, Jean scouted the idea as absurd. No man in his senses would choose such a path on such an afternoon, even though the high road might mean nearly a mile farther round.
Till close upon seven the snow continued to fall, and then it ceased. Jean, periodically visiting the window, to peer through curtains and blinds, reported breaking, clouds, and presently a gleam of moonlight.
"I shall have a lovely walk," she said cheerily. "If General Villiers has taken shelter in some cottage, he will be able to get home now."
"Jean! There he is!"
Evelyn sprang up with a rare impulsiveness, and ran into the hall. Her cheeks and eyes were brilliant with joyous relief. Jean thought she had never seen her look more lovely.
The front door had been left on the latch by Evelyn's order, and as it opened, they were both at hand. A cloaked figure stepped in, shut the door, shook off soon loose snow upon the mat, and looked at Evelyn. She stood as if turned to stone.
"Father!" Jean said in amazement.
"I thought you might be glad of some one to see you back, if—"