The mother went, and had got no farther than the cross-path when she came all at once upon the master of the house.
"Oh! ho, ho! here you are! I was just—Arthur, dear, where is your overcoat? Do go right up to your room, my son, till I can get Sarah to have a fire started in the library." She multiplied words in pure affright, so drawn was his face with anguish, and so wild his eyes with aimless consternation.
Without reply he passed in and went upstairs. Mrs. Morris remained below.
Isabel's heart beat fast. She had made her change of dress, and in a far corner of her room, with her face toward the open door that let into his, was again leaning with a mother's ecstasy over the sleeping babe, when she heard his step.
It came to his outer door, which from her place could not be seen.
Did he stop, and stand there? No, he had not stopped; he was only moving softly, for the child's sake.
She stood motionless, listening and looking with her whole soul, and wishing the light were less dim in this shadowy corner, but knowing there was enough to show her to him when he should reach the nearer door. The endless moment wore away, and there on the threshold he stood—if that—Oh merciful God!—if that was Arthur Winslow.
His eyes fell instantly upon her, yet he made neither motion nor sound, only stayed and stared, while an unearthly terror came into his face.
Care of the child kept her silent, but in solemn tenderness she lifted her arms toward him.
He uttered a freezing shriek and fled. In an instant his tread was resounding in the hall, then on two or three steps of the stair as she hurried after, and then there came a long, tumbling fall, her mother's wail in the hail below, and a hoarse cry of dismay from Giles as he rushed out of the library.