And Margaret did sleep well, absolutely worn out with excitement and grief, whilst the governess spent the night in Mrs. Fowler's room. At daybreak, Ross came to take Miss Conway's place, and found her mistress sleeping tranquilly.
"She looks more like herself, miss, doesn't she?" she whispered gladly.
"Yes," Miss Conway answered; "I should let her sleep as long as she will."
She did not say what a harrowing time she had endured during that night watch, or how Mrs. Fowler had implored her to give her a stimulant, and had declared she would die without it. But she went away quietly to her own room, and before she lay down to rest, prayed earnestly to Almighty God for the unhappy woman, whom she pitied from the depths of her heart.
SHE WENT TO THE FRONT DOOR TO MEET MR. FOWLER.
Early in the morning, a telegram arrived from Mr. Fowler saying he would be at home that night, and ordering the carriage to be sent to N— to meet him at the railway station. The governess made no secret of the fact that she had written to inform him of his wife's illness, and as Ross kept her own counsel, the other servants supposed their mistress to be suffering from one of the hysterical, nervous attacks to which she had been subject on her arrival at Greystone.
It was nearly eight o'clock before Mr. Fowler reached home. Margaret, who had spent most of the day on the beach with her brother, shrank sensitively from the thought of meeting her father. When she heard the carriage wheels nearing the house, she longed to run away and hide, but she knew it would never do to act in such a cowardly fashion as that. Appearances must be kept up, at any rate before the servants, so she went to the front door with Gerald to meet Mr. Fowler, and returned his loving kiss as quietly and composedly as though her heart was not beating almost to suffocation.
As she had anticipated, he immediately went upstairs to his wife's room, and it was not until much later, that she found herself with him alone. Then, after Gerald had gone to bed, he joined her in the garden, and strolled up and down the lawn by her side, his arm around her shoulders. For some minutes he did not speak, and she could not see the expression of his face, for there was no moon, and the stars gave but little light.
At last he said gravely, "Life is very hard, sometimes, Margaret."