Jeanne covered her up with the blankets and sat down beside her. The windows rattled in the wind, and the bare branches beat furiously against the glass. The clock over the chimney struck three.
It had just struck three, too, in the house of the Van Raats, when Frans Ferelyn drew up in front of their door in a cab. The storm still roared and shrieked like some wounded monster that was savagely fighting for life above the housetops of the dark city. Frans sprang from the cab and rang the bell. He noticed that the gas was lighted in the vestibule.
The door was opened immediately by Henk, who appeared to be expecting some one. But on seeing Frans rush inside, he stepped back in astonishment.
“Is that you, Ferelyn?” he cried.
“Yes, don’t be alarmed,” said Frans, calming him, for he saw that Henk was in a terrible state of excitement. “It is all right; Eline is with us.”
He walked further inside, crushing the glass that lay scattered all over the vestibule.
“With you, is she? Thank God!” exclaimed Henk. “I was mad, mad; I did not know what to do! Thank God she is with you.”
“Come in, Ferelyn,” came in a trembling voice from Betsy, who appeared at the door of the dining-room.
The servants were also in the vestibule, and their frightened faces cleared up a little, while they retired whispering into the kitchen. Frans entered the dining-room with Henk.
“You need not be alarmed, madam; really, for the moment it is all right. Eline was wet through, but Jeanne has taken her under her care. You can imagine what a fright it gave us when we heard such a loud knocking at the door, and at such an hour, and we saw her soaked through.”