So she waited, and the day wore on to the dinner hour. And she now began to think that Alberta was sleeping very long—unusually long, even for an exhausted traveller. It was more than four hours since she had lain down.
Erminie stole softly up to her chamber, noiselessly opened the door and peeped in.
The room was quiet and shaded, and the white curtains were drawn around the bed as she had left them; so she softly closed the door and stole quietly down stairs again.
The table was set in the dining-room, and Catherine was in the act of bringing up the soup, when Erminie met her in the hall.
“You may keep the dinner back for a little while, Catherine. Madame Corsoni has not yet waked up,” she said.
“Very well, Miss,” replied the girl, turning back towards the kitchen.
Besides Alberta and Britomarte, a third subject of anxiety troubled the young girl; for three days she had not visited the hospitals. On Tuesday she had waited at home all day long to take leave of her brother before his departure for the front. On Wednesday she had stopped to see her guests, Major Fielding and Lieutenant Ethel, off to their respective posts of duty; and to-day she was detained by the necessity of watching over her distracted visitor. In truth, the minister’s orphan daughter had enough upon her hands just now.
Another hour passed, and Erminie began to grow uneasy, and Elfie impatient, and Frederica rather cross.
Again Erminie stole up to the room and peeped through the door. No change since she was there last. Curtains drawn, room cool, shady and quiet. She returned to the library and said, “We will wait a little longer. I do not like to wake her up, or to eat dinner without her.”
And so, to the disgust of Elfie, the annoyance of Catherine and the indignation of Frederica, the dinner was still kept back.