"You will catch cold, Leo, if you stand in that draught," said Maud, passing along the corridor, where a chill current of air made itself felt. "Go into the library, child; a good fire is wasting itself upon nobody there."
But Leo did not go into the library. The library was snug and comfortable—the most comfortable room in the house,—but it commanded no view. The high trees of the shrubbery shut out the park beyond; and the short, straight road to the village, the road by which every one was coming and going now, was also entirely hidden.
When Maud reappeared, the watcher was still at her post,—but as she was in the act of putting down the open window—(perhaps she had heard an approaching step?)—remonstrance was not renewed. Instead, Maud came and looked herself.
"It is very strange of Paul;" she mused aloud.
No word from Paul had yet come, and now we can guess why Leo stood where she did.
"He mayn't have got the telegram;" she adventured.
"It would have been returned if he had not. Besides, Dr. Craig said it would be delivered last night, and Paul was not likely to be out at night."
Still the hours passed, and no answer came.
Nor did any come the next day, and the next.
"You are sure about the address, I suppose?" queried Sue, at last. She had not liked to make the suggestion before, since Maud, correct to a degree, was apt to resent any suspicion of carelessness or inaccuracy,—but the outlook was growing serious. A fresh telegram had been despatched, and Paul had also been written to,—it was inexplicable that he should remain silent, unless a mistake had been made somewhere.