CHAPTER XVIII
IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.
It was late on that memorable Sunday evening when Griselda watched her opportunity, and rising from her bed, dressed, and went downstairs.
Only the servant was in the house, for the Herschels were gone to the evening service in the Octagon Chapel, and had not yet returned.
Griselda let herself quietly out, and, with slow and faltering steps, reached the door of the house, where, as everyone believed, Leslie Travers lay dying of his wounds.
It was with a trembling hand that she knocked at the door, which was after a pause opened by old Giles.
"I am come," she faltered, "to see Mrs. Travers."
Giles shook his head.
"My lady can see no one," he said; "she is in sore trouble."