"He isn't at the Castle," she said. "They went up to London a few days ago. You'll telephone to him there, won't you? I know he will come down, if he knows how ill father is. Tell him that I asked you to."
He promised to do that, and left her. She stood at the window, and saw him go across the lawn and under the bare branches of the trees down into the wood. She stood there for a long time, after he had disappeared, and when she turned back to the room her face was sad but composed.
The illness ran its quick course, which seemed to drag interminably to those who could do little but watch it. There were slight fluctuations, but never much hope of recovery, at least to those who had had experience of such an illness. To his children, who saw him sometimes for a few minutes when he was at his best, it seemed impossible that he should be nearing his end. He would smile at them, and say a few words. They were always words that they would remember afterwards—as if he had thought out what he could say in so short a time, that would not sadden them with the idea that he expected to die, and yet would not waste the precious time he had still to be with them. He sent for Timbs and old Jackson, and one or two more of the servants and the villagers. To all of these he had something definite to say which was not a farewell; but they would count it so afterwards.
Lord Crowborough had left London for Bath. He wired to say he was coming on the fourth day, by the train which arrived in the middle of the afternoon. It was doubtful whether he would be able to see Colonel Eldridge that day; but it had been arranged that he was to stay at the Grange.
Lord Eldridge's car had been sent to the station. It might be back at any time now. Pamela was alone in the morning-room. It had come to be recognized that it was she who had pressed for him to come, and pressed again when it had seemed impossible to get him. It was she who was to receive him; she had asked that she should.
She sat motionless in front of the fire, except that once or twice she turned her head to listen. The big car made very little noise; she was on the alert to catch the first sounds of it.
At last it came—the crunching of the wet gravel, heard as soon as the purring of the engine. She sprang up, as if she would go out to meet the arrival, but stood still, as if, after all, she was unable to stir. Her hand went to her heart, and there was a look almost of fright on her face, as she stood in front of the fire, looking towards the door.
It opened, but she could not move. Then her face changed altogether, with a breaking up of its expression of strain, and she gave a little cry. For it was not Lord Crowborough, but Norman who came quickly into the room.