And Mr. Biron, whose every word caused Bram fresh astonishment, flung back the door of the kitchen with a jaunty hand.
Bram followed him, but stopped short at the sight which met his eyes.
Springing up with a low cry from a stool by the fire on Bram’s entrance, Claire, with a face so white, so drawn that he hardly knew her, stared at him with a fixed look of horror which seemed to freeze his blood.
“Miss Claire!” he said hoarsely.
She said nothing. With her arms held tightly down by her sides, she continued to stare at him as if at some creature the sight of whom had seized her with unspeakable terror. He came forward, much disturbed, holding out his hand.
“Come, come, Claire, what’s the matter with you? Aren’t you glad to see Bram Elshaw back among us?” said Theodore impatiently.
Still she did not move. Bram, chilled, frightened, did not know what to do. Mr. Biron left the outer door, by which he stood, and advanced petulantly towards his daughter. But before he could reach her she staggered, drew away from him, and with a frightened glance from Bram to him, fled across the room and disappeared.
Bram was thrown into the utmost consternation by this behavior. He had turned to watch the door by which she had made her escape, when Theodore seized him by the arm, and dragged him impatiently towards the outer door.
“Come, come,” said he, “don’t trouble your head about her. She’s not been well lately; she’s been out of sorts. I’ve talked of leaving the place, and she doesn’t like the idea. She’ll soon be herself again. Her cousin Chris has been round two or three times since his return from his honeymoon trying to cheer her up. But she won’t be cheered; I suppose she enjoys being miserable sometimes. Most ladies do.”