“A letter,” said Mrs Hampton sharply.
“Or a telegram,” said the old lawyer.
Then there was a pause, in the midst of which the iron gate was heard to clang, and footsteps sounded on the gravel.
“A visitor—so late!” said Gertrude in a trembling voice.
“George Harrington come back,” said the old lawyer shortly.
His words had a strange effect upon Gertrude, who sank back in her seat, and half closed her eyes, while a faint shudder ran through her.
“Not much like a lover,” muttered Mrs Hampton, watching her in a sidelong way, as her eyes closed more and more, and a long-drawn sigh escaped her breast.
Meanwhile, the front door was heard to close, and there were steps in the hall, as if some one was being shown into the study.
“It is not Mr Harrington,” said Gertrude, starting up; and, as the remembrance of the old housekeeper’s ominous declarations came back, she caught at Mrs Hampton’s outstretched hand.
“Be calm, my dear.”