"No," she breathed, in a voice scarcely audible.
"There is a bell close at your hand," he went on, "and I shall be within hearing of it. I will come myself if you ring it however faintly. You know this man?"
"Yes," she answered.
She saw him look across at her with an encouraging smile; and then the door was shut, and she was alone with her mysterious visitor.
CHAPTER XVII.
NO PLACE FOR REPENTANCE.
They stood silent for a few moments;—moments which seemed hours to Phebe. The stranger—for who could be so great a stranger as one who had been many years dead?—had advanced only a step or two from the threshold, and paused as if some invisible barrier was set up between them. She had shrunk back, and stood leaning against the wall for the support her trembling limbs needed. It was with a vehement effort that at last she spoke.
"Roland Sefton!" she faltered.
"Yes!" he answered, "I am that most miserable man."