It was rather a slow process, for Lady Dashwood's foot was getting painful. She came at length to the great stone doorway leading from the forecourt into the house; she looked back over her shoulder, and as she did so she grew almost rigid.
"Look!" she whispered. "What did I tell you? Don't you see it, Slight--the figure standing over there by the laurels in the moonlight? See, the rays on his face. Don't tell me that my eyes deceive me, Slight. It is my boy come back again."
Slight muttered something under his breath. In reality he was objurgating Ralph Darnley for his careless imprudence in standing there with his face turned to the dower house. Yet the old man's frame never moved a muscle.
"What does your ladyship mean?" he asked. "I can see nothing."
"That is because you are not looking in the right direction, Slight. Over there by the laurels. Do you dare to tell me that a man is not standing there? It is my son Ralph come back from the grave! The fine figure, the gracious open face, the determined eyes. Has time stood still with him that he looks so young? And yet it is forty years since. . . . Ralph, Ralph, it is your mother who calls to you."
The words rang out with startling stillness in the great cloister. The young man standing there started and turned round. He had been absolutely lost in a deep study, contemplating the old house. He came tumbling down to earth again, and became conscious of a white-haired, richly-dressed old lady who was holding out a pair of arms in his direction. He could see the pleading, loving look on her face, he noticed the menace and anger in Slight's eyes. Without further ado Ralph stepped back into the bushes, his feet making no sound on the mosy turf. It was like the slow diminishing of a dream.
"He has gone," Lady Dashwood cried. "I have frightened him by my notice. Did you not see him, Slight? Did you not observe the extraordinary likeness?"
"I saw nothing but a young man who was trespassing," Slight said evasively. "Your ladyship is full of fancies tonight. You will laugh at yourself in the morning."
Once more Lady Dashwood sighed impatiently. She managed to drag herself back to the drawing-room without the aid of Slight. She dropped into a chair white and quivering, whilst Mary regarded her with eyes filled with deep concern.
"Something has happened to you," she said. "What is it? Can I do anything?"