When they did see her, every man rose to his feet and stared at her as she advanced into their midst and stood with the water falling from her cloak and hood, her face very pale and her eyes unnaturally bright. Had a ghost appeared to them they could scarcely have been more startled, and they began to be sorry for what Sheldon had said, and to hope she had not heard it.
“Miss Grey,” one of them began, going toward her and offering her a chair, “we did not expect you here. What can we do for you?”
Louie had been buffeted by the wind and drenched with the rain. The stairs were long, and she was breathless with climbing them and with excitement. Her heart was beating rapidly, her tongue felt thick, and for a moment she could not speak.
Turning back her hood and undoing her cloak, which seemed to be choking her, she threw it off with such force that the drops of water upon it were shaken over the man who had brought her a chair and stood close to her. He was their nearest neighbor, who had sat often at their table and shared their hospitality, and “et tu Brute” came to Louie’s mind, as she looked up at him.
Drawing two or three long breaths, she said:
“I heard you were to meet to-night, to see what you would do with my father. Is that so?”
She turned to Mr. Sheldon, who answered:
“That’s about the size of it, but we didn’t expect you.”
“No,” and her lips quivered. “But, you see, I had to come; there was no one else,” and her voice shook a little as she thought of Herbert, who was still sitting on the dry-goods box and cursing himself for a coward.
“Did your father send you?” Mr. Sheldon asked, and Louie’s voice was very steady as she replied: