More than a week had also passed since she had telegraphed and written to her Aunt Fanning in New York. But no answer had yet come from that unhappy woman. And she feared that the poor relative whom she wished to succor might have met with some new misfortune.
However, Emma had hoped, from day to day, that each morning's mail might bring her good news from Charlottesville or New York, or both.
And even to-day she waited with impatience for the return of Jerome, who had driven the traveling-carriage containing the departing visitors to Wendover, and who might find letters for Blue Cliffs waiting at the post-office.
Emma could not be at rest all that day, partly because she missed her young companions, whose society had made the lonely house so cheerful, and partly because she half expected news with the return of Jerome.
She wandered up and down the deserted drawing-room, and then went upstairs to the chambers just vacated by her young friends, where she found Sarah, the chamber-maid, engaged in dismantling beds and dressing-tables preparatory to shutting up the "spare rooms" for the rest of the season.
All this was very dreary and dispiriting.
She left these apartments and would have gone into the old lady's room, only that she knew her grandmother was at this hour taking the first of her two daily naps.
As she turned to go down-stairs she glanced through the front hall window and caught a glimpse of the traveling-carriage, with Jerome perched upon the box, slowly winding its way around the circular avenue that led to the house.