CHAPTER XXVI
A MIDNIGHT VISITOR
Judson crossed the hall at Far End and, opening the front door, peered anxiously out into the moonlit night for the third time that evening.
Neither he nor his wife could surmise what had become of their master. He had gone away, as they knew, with the intention of joining a picnic party in Haven Woods, but he had given no instructions that he wished the dinner-hour postponed, and now the beautiful little dinner which Mrs. Judson had prepared and cooked for her somewhat exigent employer had been entirely robbed of its pristine delicacy of flavour, since it had been “keeping hot” in the oven for at least two hours.
“Coming yet?” queried Mrs. Judson, as her husband returned to the kitchen.
The latter shook his head.
“Not a sign of 'im,” he replied briefly.
Ten minutes later, the house door opened and closed with a bang, and Judson hastened upstairs to ascertain his master's wishes. When he again rejoined the wife of his bosom, his face wore a look of genuine concern.
“Something's happened,” he announced solemnly. “Ten years have I been in Mr. Trent's service, and never, Maria, never have I seen him look as he do now.”