She opened the hall door. Pausing for an instant upon the threshold, a soft, damp air struck her, and overhead a ray of sunshine pierced the clouds.
She fastened the furs at her throat and descended to the street.
At first she had no definite end in view, but when she had walked a block the idea of seeing Anthony grew stronger, and she turned in the direction of his house. The contact of the moist air invigorated her, and she felt less weak than she had believed herself to be. When she reached the rectory she hesitated a moment with her hand upon the bell, trembling before the thought of seeing him—of hearing him speak. She rang, and the door was opened.
"Can I see Father Algarcife?" she asked.
Agnes eyed her curiously.
"Why, he's at church!" she responded. "He's been gone about a half-hour or so. Is it important?"
"No, no," answered Mariana, her voice recovering. "Don't say I called, please. I'll come again."
"Perhaps you'll step in and rest a bit. You look tired. You can sit in the study if you like."
"Oh no, I will go on. I will go to the church." She started, and then turned back. "I believe I will come in for a few minutes," she said.
She entered the house and passed through the open door into the study. A bright fire was burning, and the dog was lying before it. She seated herself in the easy-chair, resting her head against the cushions. Agnes stood on the rug and looked at her.