She turned and waved her hand once to Barbara, a slim, alert little figure clinging to the great, carved foot of the balustrade, the lamp-light casting a radiance over her light, puffed-out hair, and gleaming fitfully over the shining steel buckles on her pointed shoes.
Alex hurried through the cold evening to the shelter of the cab.
It jolted slowly through the lighted streets, and she leant back, her eyes closed.
A wave of sick apprehension surged over her every now and then, and she shivered spasmodically under her fur.
"Here we are, Miss. Shall I get out and ring, so that you won't have to wait in this cold?" said the maid compassionately.
From the dark corner of the cab Alex watched the trim, black-clad figure mount the steps.
There was always a long wait before the convent door was opened.
But tonight it was flung back and warm light streamed out.
Alex, cold and frightened, stumbled up the steps in her turn.
It was not the old portress who had thrown back the open door.