"Do come to Westhope," she said. "While you are under this roof it seems almost impossible to see you, unless we are close to it," and she touched the sloping ceiling with her hand. "And yet I came to Westhope, and I am going on to Wilderleigh, partly in order to be near you."
Hester shook her head.
"The book is nearly finished," she said, the low light from the attic window striking sideways on the small face with its tightly compressed lips.
A spirit indomitable, immortal, looked for a moment out of Hester's gray eyes. The spirit was indeed willing, but the flesh was becoming weaker day by day.
"When it is finished," she went on, "I will go anywhere and do anything, but stay here I must till it is done. Besides, I am not fit for society at present. I am covered with blue mould. Do you remember how that horrid Lady Carbury used to laugh at the country squires' daughters for being provincial? I have gone a peg lower than being provincial—I have become parochial."
A knock came at the door, and Fräulein's mild, musical face appeared in the aperture.
"I fear to disturb you," she said, "but Regie say he cannot go to sleep till he see you."
Hester introduced Fräulein to Rachel, and slipped down-stairs to the night nursery.
Mary and Stella were already asleep in their high-barred cribs. The blind was down, and Hester could only just see the white figure of Regie sitting up in his night-gown. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took him in her arms.
"What is it; my treasure?"