“Mrs. Darrell still lives here, does she not?” he asked, rather eagerly.
“Yes.”
It was Eleanor who answered. The dogs were still barking, and Laura was still looking very suspiciously at the stranger.
“Will you tell her, please, that she is wanted out here by some one who has something important to communicate to her,” the man said.
Eleanor was going towards the house to deliver this message, when she saw Mrs. Darrell coming across the lawn. She had been disturbed at her writing by the barking of the dogs.
“What is the matter, Miss Vincent?” she asked, sharply. “Who are you and Laura talking to, out here?”
She walked from the two girls to the man, who stood back a little way outside the gate, with the lamplight shining full upon his face.
The widow looked sternly at this man who had dared to come to the gate at nightfall, and to address the two girls under her charge.
But her face changed as she looked at him, and a wild cry broke from her lips.
“Launcelot, Launcelot, my son!”