It was very late that night, and the sea-mist had turned to a drifting rain when the squire sitting reading in his library at the Court was startled by a sudden tapping upon the window behind him.
So unexpected was the sound in the absolute stillness that he started with some violence and nearly knocked over the reading-lamp at his elbow. Then sharply and frowning he arose. He reached the window and fumbled at the blind; but failing to find the cord dragged it impatiently aside and peered through the glass.
"Who is it? What do you want?"
A face he knew, but so drawn and deathly that for the moment it seemed almost unfamiliar, peered back at him. In a second he had the window unfastened and flung wide.
"Dick! In heaven's name, boy,—what's the matter?"
Dick was over the sill in a single bound. He stood up and faced the squire, bare-headed, drenched with rain, his eyes burning with a terrible fire.
"I have come for my wife," he said.
"Your wife! Juliet!" The squire stared at him as if he thought him demented. "Why, she left ages ago, man,—soon after tea!"
"Yes, yes, I know," Dick said. He spoke rapidly, but with decision. "But she came back here an hour or two ago. You are giving her shelter. Saltash brought her—or no—she probably came alone."
"You are mad!" said Fielding, and turned to shut the window. "She hasn't been near since she left this evening."