Mrs. Wright attended upon her with the utmost kindness. She did not talk a great deal, for which forbearance Maud was mutely thankful. She was so unutterably tired, too tired even to protest against that drop of brandy in her tea upon which Mrs. Wright insisted.
Another hour went by, but there was no sign of Saltash's coming. The evening was turning dark and wet. Maud lay on her sofa, sometimes dozing, sometimes talking abstractedly to her visitor. For Mrs. Wright was determined to remain till Jake returned, and briskly said so. Maud did not want to combat the decision. She was glad to have her there. It seemed that Charlie was not coming after all. Something had detained him. Her anxiety had spent itself, but she felt terribly weak. The comfort of the old woman's tender care was too great to refuse.
She scarcely knew how the time went, so overpowering was the languor that possessed her. The rainy sky brought down an early dusk long before the setting of the sun. A brooding stillness hung upon all things through which the patter of the rain sounded with unvarying monotony.
"Deary me! They will get wet," sighed Mrs. Wright.
Slowly the heavy clouds gathered and hung! Slowly the darkness deepened.
Suddenly Maud raised herself, sat up, tensely listened. "What is that?" she said.
Mrs. Wright looked at her. "I hear nothing but the rain, dear."
Maud broke in upon her impatiently. "Yes, that--that--that! Don't you hear? What is it? O God, what is it?"
Her voice rose wildly. In a moment she had sprung from her couch and was standing with caught breath, listening.
"My dearie, it's only the rain," said Mrs. Wright soothingly. "Don't let yourself get jumpy! There's nothing there."