That evening some household duty called Ursula into the unused up-stairs corridor, which as a rule she avoided. And as she passed the “Death-rooms” she very nearly came into collision with Hephzibah, issuing from them, eyelids downcast.
Ursula felt that the woman had been watching her, as usual. And although, as a rule, she resisted the feeling, to-day, by a sudden impulse, she turned like a dog at bay.
“If it makes you uncomfortable, why do you come here at all?” she said.
“Why do you?” retorted the woman, adding “Mevrouw.”
“I never do; I was only passing,” said Ursula.
“Ah, you daren’t. But I must. I can’t help myself. I can’t rest down-stairs. I seem to hear it calling to me all the time. Mevrouw, it drags me up. There’s guilt in this house. It won’t sleep.”
Ursula leaned up against the wall and closed her eyes.
“Have you anything you wish to say to me, Hephzibah?” she replied. “If so, say it.”
The woman hesitated.
“No, I’ve nothing to say to you,” she began, slowly. “I suppose it’s true, Mevrouw, that the Jonker is coming home?”