Xenie dashed out into the rain again, and ran recklessly along the path, looking far ahead of her as if to pierce the mystery that lay beyond her.
Presently she saw a young French girl plodding along toward her.
It was Ninon, the belated maid. Over her arm she carried a dripping-wet shawl.
It was a pretty shawl, of warm woolen, finely woven, and striped with broad bars of white and red.
Xenie knew it instantly, and a cry of terror broke from her lips. It belonged to Lora.
She had seen it lying around her sister's shoulders when she kissed her good-night; yet here it hung on Ninon's arms, wet and dripping, the thick, rich fringes all matted with seaweed.
[CHAPTER XVII.]
Xenie's heart beat so fast at the sight of what Ninon was carrying that she could not move another step.