Kissing her hair once again, he rose up and went away.
As he departed, the first sunbeam came in and danced upon the bed, showing Agatha fast asleep, sleeping still. She never woke until it had been broad day for a long time, and the sun creeping over her pillow struck her eyes.
Then she started up with a loud cry—she had been dreaming. Tears were wet upon her cheek. She called wildly for her husband. It was too late.
He had been gone at least three hours.
CHAPTER XXI
“Mrs. Harper—Missus—there's a carriage at the door.”
“Say I am not at home.”
She had given the same sullen answer to every visitor for four weeks, shutting herself up in stern seclusion, determined that, whatever cruel comments they made, the neighbourhood should have no power of spying into the mystery of “that poor Mrs. Locke Harper who did not live happy with her husband.” For so she felt sure had been the result of that fatal betrayal to her brother-in-law. Since, as Harrie had once said, “Duke never could keep a secret in his life!” But even his own wife could not thoroughly fathom the good heart of Marmaduke Dugdale.