No one came near her during those evening hours. The daylight waned, and she realized that it was nearing the dinner hour. Then suddenly it came to her that she could not face her uncle again. She must make some excuse.
Her work was done; she rang the bell.
After a pause Martha came to her. There was a scared look on the woman's face. She seemed half-afraid to meet Maud's eyes.
"Did you ring, ma'am?" she enquired.
"Yes." With an effort Maud made reply. "Is--is my uncle in?"
"He's just come in and gone upstairs to dress for dinner, ma'am," Martha told her.
"Ah!" Maud's heart contracted a little. "He has been out some time?" she said.
"Yes, ma'am, a long time. He seems a bit out of temper about something," Martha's round eyes suddenly conveyed sympathy that shone out to Maud like a beacon in the darkness. "I shouldn't take much notice of him, ma'am," she said. "He often says what he don't mean when he's in one of his tantrums. He'll be better in the morning."
Again that awful sense of impotence assailed Maud. She leaned her head against the door-post, closing her eyes for a second. What would the morning bring forth? The thought turned her sick.
"Is there anything as I can do, ma'am?" asked Martha.