He walked to the window, and was looking, with the instinct which leads us always, in dark places, to look toward the light, above the dusky trees to the thin luminous cloud that streaked the sky.
“Pretty well tired myself, Mr. Charles; you may guess the night I’ve put in; I was a’most sleepin’ myself when ye came to the window. Tom said ye weren’t a comin’; ’tis a mercy the yard door wasn’t locked; five minutes more and I’d have locked it.”
“It would not have mattered much, Mildred.”
“Ye’d a climbed, and pushed up the window, mayhap.”
“No; I’d have walked on; a feather would have turned me from the door as it was.”
He turned about and looked at her dreamily.
“On where?” she inquired.
“On, anywhere; on into the glen. If you are tired, Mildred, so am I.”
“You need a good sleep, Master Charles.”
“A long sleep, Mildred. I’m tired. I had a mind as it was to walk on and trouble you here no more.”