She dropped the blind. There was no doubt whatever in her mind now: Julian had returned suddenly, and for some reason he wished to be admitted into the house secretly.
She stole down the broad shallow staircase into the hall, and by the light of the glowing logs which smouldered in the big grate she found her way to the oaken door that shut off the porch from the hall. She loosened its chains as silently as possible, and opened it. Then she went through to the porch and found herself standing opposite the studded hall door. There she paused for an instant, asking herself if she should open it.
A low tap sounded on it from the outside.
“I am here,” she said in a low voice; “am I to open the door for you, Julian?”
“Open, Madge, quick—quick, I am wounded,” he said.
With trembling fingers she unfastened the bolt, opened the door, and allowed him to pass into the porch.
“O, my darling, have you been wounded?” she cried. She had not put herself into his arms: she had a sense of his being wounded, and she was afraid of hurting him by coming in contact with the wound. She felt his hand on hers.
“It is really only a trifle, Madge,” said he; “you will be able to bind it up for me, and you must not awaken poor mother. The shock of seeing me might kill her.”
They went side by side into the hall, and he sank down with a sigh of relief on the big settee before the fire. She broke up one of the smouldering logs, and it glowed into a great flame which showed her that his face was very pale and that he had grown a beard.
She was on her knees at his knees in a moment.