"Morgeson?"
"Morgeson."
"Cassandra?"
"Cassandra."
"I can cry," and Helen covered her face.
"Cry away, then. Give me a fierce shower of tears, with thunder and lightning between, if you like. Don't sop, and soak, and drizzle."
The step came close to the window; it was not in harmony with the rain and darkness, but with the hot beating of my heart.
"We are breaking up," called Mr. Somers. "Mr. Bancroft's carriage is ready, I am bid to say. It is inky outside."
"Yes," said Helen, "I am quite ready."
"There are a dozen chaises in the yard; Mr. Morgeson is there, and lanterns. He is at home among horses, I believe."