"And at the same hour. When the clock struck."
"That is a mere coincidence, not worth considering."
"I don't believe in its being a coincidence."
She beat her hands passionately together.
"The thing was planned—he planned it. He will come again to-morrow night when the clock strikes ten."
Again she beat her hands together; then she covered her face with them.
Carr looked at her anxiously. The weird soft wailing music had affected even his nerves. Of course he did not believe in the supernatural element, but he was touched by the distress of the woman who was crouching at his feet. This mental unrest, this superstitious terror, might have a disastrous effect. He must do his utmost to check it. If necessary he must even be cruel to be kind.
"Mrs. Wyndham," he said, "you must go away to-morrow; you must go into the country for a few days."
"I will not. I won't stir a step."