In time the girl managed to regain enough control of her nerves to enable her to rise and creep out through the office enclosure to the hall. Mrs. Clover had resumed her chanting in the kitchen; but Eleanor was in no mood to run further chances just then. She needed to get away, to find time to compose herself thoroughly. Pausing only long enough to see for herself what the woman had deposited on the counter (it was a common oil lamp, newly filled and trimmed, with a box of matches beside it: preparations, presumably, against the home-coming of the master with a fresh consignment of booty) she flitted swiftly to and through the door, closed it and ran down the steps to the honest, kindly earth.
Here she was safe. None suspected her adventure or her discovery. She quieted from her excitement, and for a long time paced slowly to and fro, pondering ways and means.
The fire ebbed from the heart of the western sky; twilight merged imperceptibly into a night extraordinarily clear and luminous with the gentle radiance of a wonderful pageant of stars. The calm held unbroken. The barking of a dog on the mainland carried, thin but sharp, across the waters. On the Sound, lights moved sedately east and west: red lights and green and white lancing the waters with long quivering blades. At times the girl heard voices of men talking at a great distance. Once a passenger steamer crept out of the west, seeming to quicken its pace as it drew abreast the island, then swept on and away like a floating palace of fairy lamps. As it passed, the strains of its string orchestra sounded softly clear through the night. Other steamers followed—half a dozen in a widely spaced procession. But no boat came near Wreck Island. If one had, Eleanor could almost have found courage to call for help....
In due time Mrs. Clover hunted her up, bringing a lantern to guide her heavy footsteps.
“Lands sakes!” she cried, catching sight of the girl. “Wherever have you been all this time?”
“Just walking up and down,” said Eleanor quietly.
“Thank goodness I found you,” the woman panted. “Give me quite a turn, you did. I didn’t know but what you might be trying some foolish idea about leaving us, like your pa said you might. One never knows when to trust you nervous prostrationists, or what you’ll be up to next.”
Eleanor glanced at her sharply, wondering if by any chance the woman’s mind could be as guileless as her words or the bland and childish simplicity of her eyes in the lantern-light.
“Wish you’d come up on the stoop and keep me company,” continued Mrs. Clover; “I’m plumb tired of sitting round all alone. Moon’ll be up before long; it’s a purty sight, shining on the water.”
“Thank you,” said Eleanor; “I’m afraid I’m too tired. It must be later than I thought. If you don’t mind I’ll go to my room.”