To Catherine there was something grewsomely suggestive in the departure of the man whom she might never see again alive.
Involuntarily she advanced as though to call him back. But pride, in collusion with baser feelings, conquered her, and the wretched woman lingered with her hand on the door-knob until the sound of his retreating steps had died away and all was still.
Then she sought her bed, but her intention to go to sleep calmly was frustrated. In a short time she began to weigh her means of defence in case she were complicated in the proposed crime.
The night was characterized by a dry, cold atmosphere. An occasional gust of wind shivered the leaves of the trees, among which the silver gleams of the high-poised moon fantastically played. The stillness would have been continuous but for the shrill interruptions of watchful owls.
Thoughtfully Savin strode on, taking the road which led to the Trinquelin, by a descent into a ravine.
Overcome with a sudden remorse, Catherine left her bed, and opening a window gazed out into the night. After several minutes of unpleasant silence she heard stealthy footsteps approaching, and soon a man’s figure appeared to view. The sight filled Catherine with a double sense of horror. She opened the window and in a loud voice cried: “Firmin, go home!”
But the unresponsive figure only hastened on in the gloom of the oak-trees. Hurrying out of the house, Catherine was bent on overtaking the person ahead of her. As she advanced she gave earnest utterance to the words: “Stop, Firmin! Abandon your object! Pray come back! I am unwilling——”
But the figure had disappeared.
“It is fate,” murmured the young woman, who was shaking like an aspen leaf.
Eleven o’clock sounded. As the night advanced Catherine was torn the more by conflicting emotions. Love and despair grappled her heart. The more she thought of Savin as lost to her forever, the greater seemed her love for him. And yet she could not help but feel that he had humiliated her before the world.