The big room became haunted with shadows. The gusts of wind outside that had given her a sense of satisfaction and the impression of being safely cloistered during the afternoon were now wailing spirits struggling to enter.
Tory was now walking up and down the floor straining her ears to catch the sound of approaching footsteps. If only Memory Frean would return, there would still be time for a few happy hours together.
Memory Frean must of course be spending the night with her patient, who had been too ill to permit her to return earlier in the evening.
Tory realized that she should have gone back to her own home in Westhaven as soon as she discovered her hostess’s absence.
It was too late now to consider this. Besides, the storm made it out of the question.
Restlessly she continued walking up and down the serene and familiar room, but Tory’s own serenity had vanished. The room haunted by shadows, she must remain here alone until daylight.
Always she had suffered from an ardent imagination. At times it afforded her more entertainment than anything else in the world. To-night she would have been glad to be spared it.
Straining her ears, she kept hoping for the return of Miss Frean, notwithstanding the conditions outside.
At bedtime Tory arrived at a desperate decision.
No matter what the reality, she could face it. She would go back to Westhaven.