“Does it rain, Peter?” questioned Mrs. Aylett of the lad who brought in lights.
“Yes, ma'am. It's beginnin' to storm powerful!” he said, respectfully communicative.
“Your master has not come?”
“No, ma'am.”
“See that the lantern over the great gate is lighted, and that some one is ready to take his horse. And, Peter,” as he was going out, “tell Thomas not to bring in supper until Mr. Aylett returns.”
She moved to the window, bowed her hands on either side of her eyes to exclude the radiance within, and strained them into the black, black night.
“He will have a dark and a disagreeable ride,” she said, coming back to the fire.
Her uneasiness was so palpable as to excite Mabel's compassion.
“Every step of the road is familiar to him, and he is accustomed to night rides,” she said, encouragingly. “Yes,” absently. “But he will be very wet. Hear the rain!”
It plashed against the north window, and tinkled upon the tin roof of the conservatory, and Mabel, though aware of her brother's habitual disregard of wind and weather, could not but sympathize with the wifely concern evinced by the sober physiognomy and unsettled demeanor of one generally so calm. She observed, now, that her sister-in-law was arrayed more richly than usual, and her attire was always handsome and tasteful. A deep purple silk, trimmed upon skirt and waist with velvet bands of darker purple, showed off her clear skin to fine advantage, and was saved from monotony of effect by a headdress of lace and buff ribbons. A stately and a comely matron, she was bedight for her lord's return; weighed as heavy each minute that detained him from her arms.