“Go,” I said, for all the strength was leaving me. “Go home, Jupiter—home!”
He went tramping heavily over the tangled ground homeward as I had commanded. I stood till he disappeared among the thickets, listening breathlessly for his last footfall. When that came, I felt, for the first time, how utterly, utterly I was alone in the world. I sat upon the steps of that old house a long time, without thinking or caring what was next to be done. Perhaps I fell asleep; but at last a hand was laid on my shoulder, and Chaleco stood beside me.
“Come,” he said, “this is no place for you; the night is cold.”
“Is it?” I said, rising languidly, “I did not know it!”
“Not know it? Why you are trembling like a willow branch now.”
I was indeed shivering from head to foot. My garments rustled as I stood up, for the dew upon them had turned into frost.
Chaleco had kindled a fire in the huge chimney of his tower room, and the flames sent a thousand shadows dancing among the grotesque marble carvings that overhung them. He had evidently made some preparations for my coming. A huge easy-chair, cushioned with tarnished velvet, stood on the hearth; and on a little work-table, with curiously twisted legs, was a plate of biscuit, and one of those old-fashioned goblets of Venetian glass which have since become so rare.
I was about to sit down, somewhat cheered by the warmth; but Chaleco prevented this, while he shook the frost from my garments and carefully removed my bonnet.
“There, now, you may warm yourself without being wet through,” he said, kindly; and taking a silver cup from the hearth, he filled the goblet with Bordeaux wine, spiced and warm.
“There,” he said, “eat and drink; then we will have some talk together.”