Claude uttered a faint cry, and covered her face with her hands, while Woodham and Mary stood gazing at each other till the former crossed softly and picked up the ring from where it lay.
“Claude, darling,” said Mary, as, after a little hesitation, she took the ring from Woodham, and gently drawing her cousins hand from her face, began to slip the little token back into its place.
There was no resistance, only a helpless, dazed expression in Claude’s face, as she dropped her hand into her lap, and sat back gazing down at her cousin’s act, shuddering slightly, and then closing her eyes.
They drew back, watching her for some time, and at last Woodham crept cautiously forward, peering anxiously into her mistress’s face, watching the regular rise and fall of her breast, and then gave Mary a satisfied nod, as they stole very softly away to the far end of the room, and sat down to watch.
“Exhausted, Miss Mary, asleep,” whispered Woodham. “Oh, my dear, what can we do?”
“Nothing,” whispered back Mary bitterly; “only wait.”
The wind increased, setting in more and more for one of the western gales. The rain beat at the windows and the storm came in fierce squalls, as if to tear down the unhappy house; but hours went by, and Claude had not moved, remaining plunged in a kind of stupor more than sleep.
And so the weary hours went on, broken only by the sound of an opening or closing-door, and faintly heard voices which made the watchers start and glance anxiously towards the door in anticipation of Glyddyr’s coming; but he did not leave the dining-room, and Trevithick remained still in the library, where, through Woodham’s forethought, refreshments had been taken to him twice.
As the night closed in, a lamp was lit, and a screen drawn before the table where it stood so as to leave the spot where Claude lay back in darkness, and once more the watchers sat waiting.
It was about eight o’clock, when, after for the twentieth time stealing across to her cousin’s side, and returning, Mary placed her lips to Woodham’s ear.