"And Geoffrey with him? Would to God it meant that! I am getting very weak Suzette, weary to death. My anxiety is like a wearing, physical pain. It is so long since we have heard anything of them."
"Yes, it seems very long!" Suzette murmured, soothingly.
"It is very long—quite four months since I had Geoffrey's last letter!"
"Do you think it is really as much as that?"
"I know it is—and there is the post-mark to convince you," glancing at the secretaire where she kept those treasured letters. "Geoffrey seldom dates a letter. I have read this last one again and again and again. They were at Ujiji—the place seemed almost civilized, as he described it; but they were to cross the lake later on—the great lake, like an inland sea—to cross in an open boat. How do I know that they were not drowned in that crossing? He told me the natives were afraid of going on the lake in a storm. And he is so foolhardy, so careless of himself! He may have over-persuaded them——"
"Hark!" cried Suzette, "a visitor! What a day for callers to choose! They must really wish to find you at home."
There was the usual delay caused by the leisurely stroll of a footman from the servants' quarters to the hall-door, and then the door of the music-room was opened, and the leisurely butler announced Lady Emily Carew.
Lady Emily shook hands with Mrs. Wornock, with a clinging, almost affectionate air, and allowed herself to be led to an easy-chair near the hearth where some logs were burning, to give a semblance of cheerfulness amidst the prevailing grey of the outside world. There was a marked contrast in the lady's greeting of Suzette, to whom she vouchsafed no handshake, only the most formal salutation. The mother of an only son, whom she deems perfection, cannot easily forgive the girl who goes near to breaking his heart.
"I was so surprised to hear you were at Beechhurst," said Mrs. Wornock. "I hope you bring good news—that the travellers are nearing home."
Lady Emily could hardly answer for her tears.