'To-morrow—to-morrow,' Bryda said. 'I cannot talk now. I cannot—'
'There is some mystery, depend upon it,' Mrs Lambert said, as she folded her mittened hands and twirled her thumbs one over the other, in a meditative mood; 'but I'll ring for Symes to get her a hot posset, poor thing.'
CHAPTER XV
THE LAST EVENING.
Bryda rose and went about her accustomed duties the next day with a wan, white face and wistful, anxious eyes.
She was longing for news, and yet dare not ask a question lest she should betray Jack Henderson's share in the scene on the hillside the day before. She was haunted by the memory of that rigid upturned face on which the hail beat so mercilessly. It was always before her; and there was no one near with whom to share her fears. It happened that Mr Lambert was called away on business to Bath, and bustled off to the coach office immediately after breakfast, and had only time to say to Bryda,—
'You look as if you had seen a ghost, Miss Palmer.' Then, with a laugh, 'Ah! I remember it was at Easter you were to make your decision. Well, well, don't take it too much to heart. Good-bye, mother. Don't expect me till you see me,' and then the little lawyer, bristling with importance, was gone.
It was a long and weary day—cold and stormy; and after Bryda had finished her domestic duties she could only sit in the parlour with Mrs Lambert, listening for the sound of every step upon the pavement, starting when the door bell rang, and relieved when Sam appeared in the parlour with some message or note for Mr Lambert, which was to be delivered to him on his return.