"There's a storm coming. Do you hear the wind howl, and the rain beating on the windows?" remarks Mrs. Robson, to break the spell of the dreary, brooding silence.
Lady Vera, turning her head listlessly a moment, listens aimlessly to the wail of the autumn wind moaning like a voice in human pain around the ruined gables of the house.
"It is a wild night," she answers, drearily. "What time is it, Mrs. Robson?"
"It is nigh onto eleven o'clock," the woman answers, consulting the broad-faced silver watch stuck in her belt; then, curiously: "You've never asked me that question afore since here you've been, my dearie. Why do you do so now?"
"When the hours of life are few, one is fain to count them," Lady Vera answers, with subdued bitterness.
And again there ensues a silence, filled up by the wild voice of the wind that has now increased to a gale.
The furious rush of the rain is distinctly audible; a flash of lightning quivers into the room in spite of the shielding curtains.
"Mrs. Robson, I believe I am going to die. When your cruel master comes, he will find that his captive has escaped him, after all," Lady Vera says, weakly, and with a faint triumph in her voice.
Before Mrs. Robson can reply, there comes a hasty, thundering rap on the hall door that brings her screaming to her feet. It is thrice repeated before her frightened senses return.