“Promise, Kate, that you will not send for a doctor, unless I give you leave,” he whispered, eagerly. “Your solemn promise, Kate; I must have it.”
“On condition that you let me see to the bandages for you then,” I answered, reluctantly.
“Very good! You can. They will want changing to-night. I am going to sleep now.”
He closed his eyes and turned his face to the wall. I stole softly out of the room and down stairs. The sight of Alice’s calm and placid features as she busied herself about the affairs of the house and the parish was a constant irritation to me. I could not sit down or settle to any work. A fit of nervous restlessness came over me. Outside was a storm of wind and rain but even that I felt at last was better than inaction; so I put on my coat and hat and walked across the soddened turf and down the drive with the fresh, stinging rain in my face. I passed out into the road, and after a moment’s hesitation took the turn towards the Yellow House.
I do not know what prompted me to go and see Adelaide Fortress. It was a sudden impulse, and I yielded to it promptly. But I had scarcely taken half a dozen steps before I found myself face to face with Bruce Deville. He stopped short, and looked at me with surprise.
“You are not afraid of rough weather, Miss Ffolliot,” he remarked, raising his cap, with, for him, unusual courtesy.
“I fear many things worse,” I answered, looking down into the wood. “Are you going to see Mrs. Fortress?”
“Yes, presently,” he assented. “In the meantime, I was rather thinking—I want a word with your father.”
“What about?” I asked, abruptly.
He looked at me intently. There was a new look upon his face which I scarcely understood. Was it pity. It was almost like it. He seemed to be wondering how much I knew—or surmised.