In the morning she again betrayed her mind's preoccupation. "He must have got them by now. Kitty, did you hear how the wind blew in the night? He'll have an awful crossing."
"Well then, let's hope he won't be very ill; but he isn't going by the Bay of Biscay, dear."
The wind blew furiously all morning, and when it dropped a little towards evening it was followed by a pelting rain.
"He's at Dover now."
"In a mackintosh," said Kitty by way of consolation. But Lucia, uncomforted, lay still, listening to the rain. It danced like a thousand devils on the gravel of the courtyard. Suddenly she sat up, raising herself by her hands.
"Kitty!" she cried. "He's coming. He is really. By the terrace. Can't you hear?"
Kitty heard nothing but the rain dancing on the courtyard. And the terrace led into it by the other wing. It was impossible that Lucia could have heard footsteps there.
"But I know, Kitty, I know. It's his walk. And he always came that way."
She slipped her feet swiftly on to the floor, and to Kitty's amazement sat up unsupported. Kitty in terror ran to her and put her arm round her, but Lucia freed herself gently from her grasp. She was trembling in all her body. Kitty herself heard footsteps in the courtyard now. They stopped suddenly and the door-bell rang.
"Do go to him, Kitty—and tell him. And send him here to me."