Presently, Marion lay quiet and Simone put out the candle and turned to her own little pallet bed. The moon swung clear above the sloping land, the silver beams creeping through the cracks of the shuttered window. Out in the lane rose suddenly the full-throated song of the nightingale, answering another across the valley. With a stifled moan Marion buried her face in the pillow.
Simone, undressing in the darkness, shed bitter tears, and for a long time she crouched by her chair, summoning remembrance of those two, one near and one distant, to a Presence where remembrance would be availing. The June night went up in beauty; the world lay bathed in an exceeding peace. But Marion tossed to and fro in the darkness, counting the minutes of each endless hour.
Just about sunset the following evening the coach wound down the valley and entered Exeter by the East Gate. Zacchary's reluctance to speed up the horses had been overborne, not so much by Marion's words as her looks. It dawned on the old man that his beloved mistress must be ailing. Tony the watchful confirmed his suspicions. If the mistress had an aunt in Exeter, said the Londoner, 'twas nothing short of a providence they should be so near to the town, for to his way of thinking the young lady was sickening for a fever. Zacchary said no more.
Mistress Keziah was sitting down to supper in the low, lattice-windowed room that looked out on the courtyard. Beyond the flagged stretch rose high, creeper-covered walls, in which the great oaken entrance doors were set. The house was a rambling, gabled building, with a garden at the rear, which was only kept in order because of Mistress Keziah's sense of duty to her forbears. Rarely she walked therein; only part of the large house was inhabited, Mistress Keziah loving to spend the greater part of her income on her visits to Bath, where she lived some months of each year in state and splendour.
The sound of horses and wheels, and the clang of the courtyard bell, roused in her a lively curiosity. Quickly she thought of the few folk in the neighbourhood who might pay her an evening visit in a coach drawn by at least four horses. When the footman opened the courtyard door and a tall young lady walked in, wearing a travelling cloak and hood which bore the unmistakable mark of a London tailor, Mistress Keziah was filled with amazement.
A minute later the footman entered the room and stood aside to allow the visitor to pass.
'Mistress Marion Penrock.'
'Marion! My child!'
The lady stepped forward with open arms. Any doubt Marion had as to her welcome was swept away in a close embrace.
'I can scarce believe my eyes,' said Mistress Keziah, holding her guest at arm's length for a survey.